You Were the One
by Sassydew
Summary: House and Stacy's relationship, beginning with their first meeting at a strip club, as per canon, and intended to continue through Stacy's departure in the episode Need to Know.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 1)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...  
**Note:** Includes dialogue from the episodes "Three Stories" and "Acceptance"

_This is a work-in-progress and the chapter lengths vary. It is my very first attempt at fanfiction and feedback would be greatly appreciated. _

**--------------------**

Greg has just been put into an induced coma to alleviate the unbearable pain caused by the toxins ravaging his body. Stacy cannot believe he has outright refused to consider having his leg amputated as his doctors recommended. She has exhausted herself trying to convince him. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, thinking she should have discussed the middle ground option with him, but she is positive that he would have refused. Though she knows that this is not what Greg wants, she tells Cuddy that, as Greg's medical proxy, she will sign the paperwork permitting the hospital to remove his damaged thigh muscle.

"You're saving his life," Cuddy tells her.

"He won't see it that way," Stacy replies quietly.

Now she sits in the surgery waiting room while large chunks of Greg's thigh are being removed without his knowledge or consent. Finally alone, she permits herself to cry, and large tears darkened with mascara slide down her cheeks. She knows some will view her decision as selfish. Indeed, she made the decision to have the thigh muscle removed because she loves him too much to watch him die, to save herself that agony. But she's also fairly certain that their relationship will end as a result of this decision, that he will not be able to forgive her. And that, too, will be agony. It's agony for her either way. She loves Greg more than she ever imagined she could love anyone. And she wants him to live, even if it won't be with her.

Wiping the tears away from her cheeks, she smiles to herself as she remembers how they met. Whenever people ask them, Greg takes great pleasure in telling them, tongue-in-cheek, that they met at a strip club. They share a look and Stacy plays along, adding, "You were the worst two dollars I ever spent!" It's a little joke they have. But it is partially true…

**--------------------**

(Flashback…)

It's a Friday night and Stacy is sitting at a table in the packed Gentlemen's Club, a slightly upper class strip joint. She's with three senior partners from her law firm and one potential client. The firm – Merry, Laurie, and Lowe – specializes in corporate law, as does she, and she's been working tirelessly to get Hudson Manufacturing to sign on as a client. She's also been trying to make senior partner. Merry, Laurie, and Lowe have announced that they are going to promote one of the junior attorneys. She's in the running; her only real competition is Brian Jensen. They both began at the firm five years ago, both just having passed the bar. They worked their way up at the same pace. In recent months, however, Stacy has, in fact, surpassed Brian; she's landed more clients and won more cases. But she's almost certain that Brian will get the promotion; Brian has a penis.

Two strippers approach their table and one begins to give a lap dance to the Hudson representative while the other dances suggestively in front of her employers. She feels uncomfortable and excuses herself to use the restroom, but no one hears her. The music is loud and they are captivated by the entertainment.

In the dark hallway where the restrooms are located, she notices a cigarette vending machine. She's irritable and craving nicotine, so she stops to buy a pack of Camel Lights. The cigarette machine is of the older variety, where you put money in and then pull out the knob underneath your selection. She laughs humorlessly as she thinks that things never really change that much anyway.

She leans against the wall next to the machine, lights up, and closes her eyes as she takes a deep drag and exhales. She does everything she can to make her employers think of her as an _attorney _rather than simply a woman, even if it means hanging out at strip clubs with potential clients. Brian is out of town and this is her chance to shine. When she announced earlier in the day that she would be joining them for drinks at the Gentlemen's Club, Merry turned bright red, Laurie scoffed, and Lowe said, "Honestly, Stacy, that's really not necessary…" She remembers how she argued calmly that Brian would have been invited had he been in town. "Well, that's…that's just…different, dear," Merry, the eldest of the partners at 63, said as he patted her on the shoulder. She worked her ass off to get where she is and she is not about to give up now, she thinks.

**--------------------**

Greg House is also at the Gentlemen's Club that same Friday night, sitting at a table with his friend Wilson and Wilson's brother and cousins. It's Wilson's bachelor party; he is about to tie the knot for the second time. House is happy for his good friend. He is also envious, though he won't admit this even to himself. It doesn't escape him, though, that Wilson is several years younger, and he's found love twice.

House jokes about hookers and strippers, but really he thinks at 36 he's too old for this shit. He's tired of one-night stands and brief flings that inevitably end with an accusation that he is selfish and indifferent. He knows deep down that this isn't true, but he simply isn't equipped with the right words to explain; hell, he doesn't quite understand it himself. It's a self-protective measure that he can't abandon. He doesn't trust people; he hasn't allowed himself to become attached to anyone in a very long time. People lie. And then they leave.

Bored with the strippers and the groomsmen's shouts of "Take it all off!" he needs a smoke. He remembers having seen a cigarette vending machine when he went to take a leak earlier. As he approaches the machine, he pulls out his wallet. The cigarettes are $2.25 but all he has is a quarter and a fifty dollar bill. He swears under his breath and slams his fist onto the front of the machine.

**--------------------**

The sound interrupts Stacy's train of thought and her eyes fly open. She sees a tall, lanky man in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and faded jeans cursing under his breath. "Vending machine steal your money?" she asks.

Slightly startled, he turns toward the direction of the voice to see an attractive brunette smoking in the shadows of the poorly lit hallway. "Nah! I forgot that I shoved my last few dollar bills down Candi's panties!" he retorts.

"Nice," she says, sighing. She's about to walk past him and rejoin her coworkers when her eyes meet his. She is momentarily mesmerized by his impossibly bright blue eyes, so, instead, she offers him a cigarette.

He looks at the pack of cigarettes proffered in her outstretched hand. "Don't smoke lights. Suppose you'd take pity on me and float me a couple of bucks?" He raises his eyebrows hopefully.

She sighs and rolls her eyes, but then opens her wallet and pulls out two dollars, which he quickly snatches from her hand. As he feeds the money into the machine, he smirks and asks, "So, what's someone like you doing in a place like this?"

"_That's_ an original line," she replies sarcastically as she takes another drag of her cigarette.

"Just curious," he shrugs. "You don't see many women in here who aren't working the floor, and they certainly don't wear navy power suits buttoned up to their necks," he says, looking her up and down.

She studies him without responding as he fumbles in his pockets for a book of matches, lights his cigarette, and takes a long drag. "You're an executive of some sort, and you're out with the bosses so they'll think of you as promotion material," he states matter-of-factly.

She looks momentarily surprised, then figures he must have seen her at the table with the men from her firm. "Astute powers of observation, you have," she replies. In no hurry to get back to her colleagues, she continues to lean against the wall smoking.

"Smoking can kill you, you know," he tells her, as if this is breaking news. "You should quit."

"I quit last year. This is the first cigarette I've had since November. Anyway, what are you? A doctor?" she retorts.

"HA!" he exclaims with a loud laugh.

Just then Wilson comes down the hall to use the restroom and stops when he reaches House. "I was wondering where you --" he begins, but then he sees Stacy in the shadows, stops in mid-sentence, and continues to the men's room.

House moves so that he is standing directly in front of Stacy. He is much too close, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Can I buy you a drink?" he ventures. When she eyes him coolly and doesn't respond, he looks down at the floor and continues tentatively, "you know, to pay you back for the cigarettes?"

At that moment she realizes that he isn't quite as self-assured as he first appeared. Head still down, he lifts his eyes to hers and, again, she is taken with their intensity. She feels oddly drawn to his strange mix of cockiness and vulnerability and a part of her wants to concede. As she's mulling this over in her mind, she hears herself decline. "I really should get back to my colleagues…," she says, not unkindly. "Don't worry about the two bucks."

He nods at her curtly. She puts out her cigarette in a standing ashtray and walks past him into the sea of tables and dancers. He watches her until Wilson comes out of the bathroom. "Who's the beautiful brunette?" he inquires.

"Nobody," House says gruffly, and he and Wilson begin to make their way back to the rowdy group of inebriated groomsmen.

(To Be Continued…)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 2)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 1 ended:

_He nods at her curtly. She puts out her cigarette in a standing ashtray and walks past him into the sea of tables and dancers. He watches her until Wilson comes out of the bathroom. "Who's the beautiful brunette?" he inquires._

_"Nobody," House says gruffly, and he and Wilson begin to make their way back to the rowdy group of inebriated groomsmen._

**--------------------**

When Stacy returns to the table, she is flabbergasted to see that everyone has left. It's as if they never knew she was there to begin with! She is seething with anger as she makes her way over to the bar. "Scotch on the rocks," she calls as she hops onto the stool. As soon as it arrives, she downs the amber liquid all at once and frowns when it burns her throat.

"Better watch out! Don't want your face to freeze like that!" She turns to see that the man she just left at the vending machine has now settled onto the stool next to her.

"What are you doing here? I said --"

"You _said_ you had to join your colleagues. I happened to notice that they are no longer here. So I thought maybe now I could buy you a drink after all."

She's about to tell him to leave her alone, but she's not sure that she wants to be alone. And again, when their eyes meet she's captivated. She can't deny that she feels attracted to him. So she says she'll have another scotch. He motions for the bartender to come over and orders them each one.

"You're not going to get the promotion, you know," he tells her. "It's a man's world."

She doesn't need this shit. "If you're trying to cheer me up, try harder," she says as she looks him in the eye. She's hoping he actually will say something to elevate her mood.

"You should use your assets to your advantage," he continues. "Sleep with your boss."

"Yeah, right!" she snorts. "Even if I didn't have any qualms about doing something so ludicrous, I have _three_ bosses, the senior partners of the firm: Merry, Laurie, and Lowe."

"So sleep with all of 'em – Larry, Curly, Moe, the janitor, whoever. I think women ought to be willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead," he smirks.

She can't help laughing when she pictures her bosses as the Three Stooges. And something in the way he says this tells her that he is, indeed, joking.

"Sadly, none of them is really my type," she says as the bartender places another scotch in front of her.

"Am I your type?" he asks her in a serious tone of voice.

She leans her face close to his, looks him in the eye, and says in a low voice, "Why are you asking?"

He is flustered. He looks down into his glass, takes a swig, and asks her for more details about her job. He's always been good at deflecting anything he doesn't really know how to talk about.

They talk for the better part of an hour. Actually, Stacy does most of the talking. She vents about her job and Greg listens and asks questions, subtly redirecting any of her inquiries about him with jokes. He is impressed with her obvious intelligence and drive, as well as her ability to remain articulate while slightly intoxicated. She likes his eyes, smile, and acerbic wit.

She looks at her watch. "Oh, I really should get going. It's been nice talking to you…uh…"

"Greg," he supplies.

"Greg. Thank you for the scotch – and for listening…"

"De nada," he tells her, and then, "It's late; I should walk you to your car."

She's attracted to him. And she realizes at this moment that she was sort of hoping he would ask for her number. Maybe he will, she thinks, while he walks her to her car. So she nods and he follows her out.

They walk in silence and when they get to her car, she says, "Here it is. Thanks." He nods.

She stands with her back against the driver's side door and makes no move to unlock her car. He stands in front of her and looks down into her eyes for what seems like a really long time, but probably is only a few seconds. She really wants him to kiss her. He wants to kiss her and thinks she wants him to. Finally he bends down and presses his lips on hers gently. She responds instantaneously, opening her mouth as his tongue pushes past her lips. Then his hands are on her hips and his body is pressing into hers. The kiss becomes deep and demanding. She feels lightheaded and pulls back, gasping for air. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and takes several deep breaths while he watches for her reaction. Before she has time to think, she hears herself speak. "My place?" she asks.

"I think mine's closer – only a few minutes away," he says in a low voice. "You drive." They get into her car and, aside from Greg giving her directions to his house, they ride in silence.

**--------------------**

Greg unlocks the door to his townhouse and enters with Stacy right behind him. He abruptly stops and turns around. He reaches past her shoulder and locks the door. Their eyes lock for a single, heated, electrically charged moment. Then Greg pushes her hard up against the door with the length of his body and kisses her passionately.

Stacy has a moment of doubt. She hardly knows this man, and she's not in the habit of going home with men she's only just met. She really should leave…but, God…she wants him. And she can feel just how much he wants her. And her mouth and body are responding completely independently of her half formed thoughts…

Greg pins her hands above her head and against the door and hungrily places wet kisses on her neck. She moans softly which, if possible, arouses him even more than he already is. Oh, God. He needs her. Now.

He releases her hands and begins to deftly unbutton her suit jacket, stopping only long enough to allow her to pull his t-shirt off over his head. They fervently continue to undress each other, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake as they make their way to Greg's bedroom. What follows is intense, wild, passionate.

Immediately afterward, satisfied and thinking a bit more clearly, Stacy begins analyzing the situation – it's in her nature. This occurrence can be chalked up to any number of reasons, she thinks. She was vulnerable, desperate, lonely…he was _there_…they were both hungry, needy…yet she feels something else…and she's trying to work out just what that is when, of all things, he tells her to leave.

At first Greg thinks he brought her home out of a need for a warm body, any body, really; it's a one-night stand, tension relief, a bit of transitory pleasure. But something moved him deep inside when they made love… and this scares the shit out of him. He turns to look at her. She is on her back next to him, still flushed and breathing heavily. He thinks how beautiful she looks there in his bed, and, again, he feels that same….something…deep within. Oh, crap, he thinks. So he does the only thing he can do. "Okay, leave now," he tells her.

She turns on her side to look at him, but he stares straight up at the ceiling. Her eyes grow wide in disbelief. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but can only shake her head incredulously.

"Thanks. It was fun. B'bye." He tells her, still staring at the ceiling.

"Well….you're…I mean…you don't need to treat me like…like a…a common prostitute!" she screams as she jumps out of the bed. She is furious as she walks through the townhouse trying to locate her scattered clothing. She puts on just enough to be decent and walks out, slamming the front door as hard as she can. She bursts into tears when she is safely inside her car. She feels like an idiot! What was she expecting? She is just going to forget this whole terrible night ever happened, she tells herself…

(To Be Continued...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 3)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 2 ended:

_"Well…you're…I mean…you don't need to treat me like…like a…a common prostitute!" she screams as she jumps out of the bed. She is furious as she walks through the townhouse trying to locate her scattered clothing. She puts on just enough to be decent and walks out, slamming the front door as hard as she can. She bursts into tears when she is safely inside her car. She feels like an idiot! What was she expecting? She is just going to forget this whole terrible night ever happened, she tells herself…_

**--------------------**

At 10 am Saturday morning House phones Wilson. "Hey, I need you to take me back to the strip club to get my car."

"House, you do realize I'm getting married tomorrow, right? And that I have to entertain numerous out-of-town relatives? Did it occur to you that I might have things to do besides… Wait! What? You left your car…how did you get home? I thought you were leaving right when I left with the guys…"

"Can you just take me to get my car? Please?" House avoids Wilson's speculation.

Half an hour later, Wilson arrives. "So, what exactly happened last night?" he asks as House gets into the car.

"Nothing."

"How did you get home?"

"Got a ride."

"So I gathered – but from whom? Oh! I know! It's the brunette you were talking with!" Wilson sounds very satisfied with his deduction. He glances at House, who only rolls his eyes and sighs. "Did she take you to her place?"

"No, mine. How's your bride?"

"Susan's okay; I think her mom's driving her a little crazy. Don't change the subject, House. Tell me about this woman. Do you like her? Are you going to see her again?"

"Like her, want to, but don't think so. What's Susan's mom doing to annoy her?"

"Criticizing everything – her wedding dress, her choice of flowers, the seating arrangements…she's a control freak. If you like this woman, why aren't you going to see her again?" This is what they do; they couch uncomfortable subjects within other topics altogether. It works for them.

"I sort of told her to leave," House mumbles as he looks out the side window.

"What do you mean? This morning?"

"No, last night. Right…after…after..._you know_…and she seemed…mad…"

"Wasn't it..._good_?"

"Why don't you just worry about your own sex life? Or are you bored with Susan already?" he asks in a snotty tone. And then he adds quietly, "It was good."

"You _idiot_! You meet a woman you actually _like_ and then you…"

"Shut up. There's my car. I'll see you tonight," he says just before hopping out. He's already said way too much.

**--------------------**

Stacy wakes up Monday morning with a terrible sore throat. She gets up, takes two ibuprofen, and makes herself a cup of tea. Two hours later, as she's leaving for her office, she feels even worse than when she first woke up. She can barely talk due to the pain, and she has to be in court arguing a case all afternoon. She decides to stop at the Princeton University Medical Center Urgent Care Clinic that she passes on her way to work everyday.

When she enters the clinic, she is pleased to see that there are only three others in the waiting room. Good, this will go quickly, she thinks. She checks in at the desk, takes a seat, and removes a file folder from her briefcase. She is just about to begin reviewing the case she will be working on this afternoon when her name is called.

A nurse brings her to an exam room, takes her temperature and blood pressure, and asks her a few questions, the answers to which she jots down in Stacy's chart. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she says sweetly as she leaves the room.

Only moments later Greg walks into the exam room while looking down, reading from the chart. "So, what seems to be the problem today, Ms…Ms. Barrett?"

He looks up and is shocked to see Stacy. He is immediately uncomfortable and the look of horror on her face as she recognizes him stops him dead in his tracks.

"What are _you_ doing here? Get out! Now!" she shouts at him.

"I work here. I'm here to see what's wrong with your…" He opens the chart again and looks. "…throat."

"You're…you're a…_doctor_?" she asks incredulously.

He nods.

"I don't believe this. I…I…just…I _asked_ you if you were a doctor!"

"You were being sarcastic. And I never answered." He holds out his hand. "Greg House, MD. Pleased to meet you," he says in a mock serious voice.

She ignores his outstretched hand. "I don't believe you! If you're a doctor, how come you're not wearing a lab coat?" she asks, noting his jeans and untucked, slightly wrinkled blue button-down shirt.

"Don't want to; not very flattering on a man of my build. Are you going to let me look at your throat?" He takes a couple of steps toward her.

"Absolutely not! I'm not showing you _anything_."

"Don't want to resort to stating the obvious here; however, considering how much of you I've already seen, it seems a bit silly to be shy about _this_, doesn't it?" he asks as he tilts his head slightly to the side.

"I want another doctor," she states icily as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Okay! Let's see," he says as he looks at his watch. "Dr. Nordahl's clinic shift begins in three hours and forty-two minutes! I'll leave him your chart." He turns to leave, but she stops him.

"Never mind. I can't wait that long. I have to be in court this afternoon. So come and figure out what's wrong with me." She opens her mouth wide and says, "Ahhhh."

He looks in her throat. Then he undoes the top button of her power suit (this time it's black) to feel the glands in her neck; he looks into her eyes as he does this. His eyes, his warm hands on her flesh, remembering what those hands are capable of…it's almost her undoing. But he kicked you out, she thinks. He treated you like a call girl, for heaven's sake --

"It's your UVULA!" he proclaims excitedly, interrupting her thoughts.

"My…my what?"

"Your u-vu-la," he says, enunciating each syllable. "The little thing that hangs down in the back of your throat. It's made of muscle and connective tissue. Yours is swollen to three times its normal size. No wonder you're in pain."

"Swollen? Well, how did that happen? I mean, what makes one's…uvula…swell?" she asks.

"Well, that depends. Could be an allergic reaction. What have you put in your mouth lately?" he asks her with raised eyebrows.

Before she can respond, he begins to answer his own question. "I can think of two – no! No! Wait! Actually _three_ – things you put in your mouth the other night when you were with me! First there was the cigarette, then the scotch, and then, of course, my --"

"Greg! Stop!" She's furious and her cheeks are burning. "Could this be…caused by, well…any…of those…things?"

"Nope – probably not!" he tells her in an exaggeratedly happy voice. He is enjoying tormenting her. "Sometimes a swollen uvula is an allergic reaction to certain foods, but it can also be the result of a virus. In any case, I'll give you a prescription for Prednisone, a corticosteroid, which will reduce the inflammation and the pain," he tells her as he writes.

He rips the prescription off the pad and holds it out to her. When she reaches for it, he pulls it away and she sighs and rolls her eyes. "One more thing," he tells her. "Have dinner with me tonight."

(To Be Continued…)


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 4)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 3 ended:

_He rips the prescription off the pad and holds it out to her. When she reaches for it, he pulls it away and she sighs and rolls her eyes. "One more thing," he tells her. "Have dinner with me tonight."_

**--------------------**

"I beg your pardon?" She is clearly stunned as she stares at him with wide eyes.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he says again. He is afraid she'll refuse, but he tries to maintain an air of confidence. If she says no, he'll never see her again anyway, he thinks.

"What? Wait. Let me see if I understand what's going on here. We met Friday night, I went home with you, you kicked me out of your bed, and now three days later you are asking me on a _date_?"

"Well, geez. When you put it like that…I come off looking like a real ass," he says.

She raises her eyebrows and nods slightly. "Yes, you do." She buttons the top button of her jacket and hops down from the examining table. Greg realizes he needs to act fast.

"Look. I'll be honest with you. I'm not good at this stuff, okay? I behaved badly the other night." He looks at an imaginary spot on the wall behind her, unable to meet her eyes. "When we…I felt…I…" he sighs, at a temporary loss for words. "I enjoyed our time together. I'm sorry I didn't express it better." He looks at her now diffidently. "Have dinner with me. Then if you never want to see me again, that's fine."

Stacy snatches the prescription out of Greg's hand and looks him in the eye. "Give me one good reason why I should say yes."

"Free dinner, restaurant of your choice, with a handsome, charming doctor? Isn't this every girl's dream?" he raises his eyebrows at her hopefully.

"First of all, I am a _woman_, not a girl, and, secondly, I didn't know you were going to invite a charming doctor along," she counters dryly.

He is amused and he can't hide his smile. "Is that a yes, then?"

She moves so that she is directly in front of him and again looks him in the eye. In a very businesslike tone, as if she's scheduling a deposition, she says, "Pick me up at 7:00. My address is in the chart."

Greg stands in the exam room grinning as he listens to the click-clack of her heels as she heads to the pharmacy to fill her prescription.

**--------------------**

As Stacy drives to work, she can hardly wrap her mind around the fact that Greg turned out to be her clinic doctor. But, more than that, she's surprised at how much she is looking forward to seeing him again. She feels…something…she just can't name. From the start, she had no intention of turning down his dinner invitation, but she didn't want to seem too easy (though it's probably too late for that now, she thinks), especially after the humiliating end to their last encounter…

Greg is in a good mood all day, even though he is on clinic duty, which he hates. He really likes Stacy. He knew that Friday night, but he had to go and be an ass. She's smart and funny and has a sarcastic comeback for everything he says. He can tell that she's different from other women he's dated. For one thing, she's interesting. And independent. And he likes that. A lot. He feels fortunate to have been given a second chance with her. And he doesn't want to mess it up. On his lunch break, he goes to a flower shop and purchases a small bouquet of pale lavender and white orchids for her.

**--------------------**

Stacy's day is long and, after speaking in court for hours, her throat really hurts. When she gets home, she feels a little feverish and decides she needs to cancel dinner. She truly hopes this won't be her only chance to see Greg again. She phones the clinic and leaves a message. "Please tell Dr. House that Stacy needs to cancel dinner due to illness, but she'd like a rain-check," she tells the receptionist. Then she gets into her favorite old, worn pajamas (they used to be magenta, but now they're a faded gray-pink), curls up on the sofa, and clicks on the tv.

She's about to watch a rerun of _ER_ when the doorbell rings. She looks at the clock. It's 7:00. Oh, no! Maybe Greg never got the message, she thinks. She looks through the peep-hole and, sure enough, there he is. She opens the door part way, standing behind it – she really doesn't look presentable – and says, "Oh, Greg! Didn't you get my message? I'm so sorry--"

"Got it," he cuts her off. "But I already got _these_…and I'm not much of a flower guy myself…" he says kind of shyly as he holds out the orchid bouquet.

"They're beautiful!" She smiles and takes the bouquet, noticing how good he looks in the black dockers and clean, unwrinkled white shirt he is wearing.

"And," he continues, "I brought dinner." He holds up two large brown paper bags.

She knows she has to invite him in now, even though she's a mess, as is her townhouse. "I'm sorry there are boxes stacked all over," she tells him. "I am moving in with an old college friend on Sunday. My lease is up, but I've been so busy trying to get that promotion that I haven't had a chance to find another place…"

He shrugs, walks into her kitchen and pulls pints of three different kinds of soup out of one of the bags and three kinds of ice cream out of the other. "Hot and cold, for your throat," he tells her. "I didn't know what you'd like."

She is touched by his thoughtfulness. She puts the ice cream in the freezer and they each select a pint of soup - she has wonton, he has hot and sour. Her dining table is stacked high with boxes, so they sit down at opposite ends of the sofa in the living room.

"Ah, I see you're watching _ER_. Do you always watch this?" he asks.

"Sometimes. I like medical dramas."

He nods and turns his attention to the tv. After only a minute or two, he says animatedly, "See, now look what they're doing! You can't intubate someone like that without causing serious damage. And look at that nurse; she's not wearing any gloves!"

Stacy laughs. "Greg, it's a television show, not medical school!"

They watch in silence while they eat, but every few minutes Greg feels the need to explain to her why something they're doing on the show is completely inaccurate. "Don't the writers have any medical consultants?" he laments.

She puts her empty soup container on the coffee table and tells him, "I watch _Law and Order_, and they don't do everything properly with regard to legal proceedings. But I don't care because _it's just a tv show_!"

He smirks and throws a decorative sofa pillow at her. She retaliates and, somehow, they end up wrestling each other for the pillows. The end result is that all the pillows are on the floor and Greg has Stacy pinned to the sofa, his body on top of hers. They're both breathing heavily.

"I win!" he exclaims, his face just inches from hers.

"It's not a fair match," she complains. "I'm sick, I'm weak, take pity!" She's joking, but he is reminded that she feels unwell and he places a hand on her forehead.

"You do feel a little feverish. You should take a couple of acetaminophen along with the prednisone. And no more rough-housing!" he smirks as he hoists himself off of her and stands up. "I should leave so you can get some rest."

She stands up and walks him to the door. "Do you always play doctor, even when you're off the clock?" she asks him.

"I'll always be willing to play doctor with you," he tells her in a husky voice. Then he leans down and kisses her deeply. Apparently he's not afraid of getting sick, she thinks. But then, they're kissing…and kissing…and his arms are around her, and her hands are on his chest, and she's not thinking anything. At all. Except how much she wants him. Again.

Finally he pulls away, catches his breath, and licks his lips. "So. Rain-check. How about dinner on Wednesday? Give you a day to start to feel better?"

She nods and thanks him for dinner and the flowers. He leaves.

She takes a prednisone and two acetaminophen and eats half a pint of ice cream while she sits on the sofa and admires the bouquet of orchids.

(To Be Continued...)


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 5)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 4 ended:

_Finally he pulls away, catches his breath, and licks his lips. "So. Rain-check. How about dinner on Wednesday? Give you a day to start to feel better?"_

_She nods and thanks him for dinner and the flowers. He leaves._

_She takes a prednisone and two acetaminophen and eats half a pint of ice cream while she sits on the sofa and admires the bouquet of orchids._

**--------------------**

At a little after 9 pm Tuesday night, just as Stacy's about to get into the shower, she hears the phone ring.

She grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around herself as she dashes into the bedroom and picks up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi Stacy, this is Greg."

"Greg! Hi!" she says, and then silently chastises herself for sounding too excited.

"How's the uvula?" he asks.

"Much better. Good. Actually, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm a little tired, though, so I was just going to shower and turn in early."

He clears his throat and says, "Good idea." Then he pauses momentarily and continues. "So. About dinner tomorrow night…are you up for it?"

"You bet. A restaurant of my choice and a handsome, charming doctor…how could I turn that down?"

"Well, it turns out the handsome, charming doctor I had lined up for the other night is busy; it'll just be you and me."

"You know, you just might be the only handsome, charming doctor I need," she says in a teasing tone.

He doesn't know how to respond to that. He clears his throat again and asks her where she wants to go.

"How about Chiang Mai Thai? Do you like Thai?" she asks.

"Yep, love it. I'll pick you up at 7:00."

**--------------------**

All the next day thoughts of Stacy keep popping into Greg's head. He can't decide whether he should get her flowers again. Maybe it's overkill. But he wants to impress her. Maybe he should bring chocolates? That's what he'll do. He leaves work a few minutes early and stops to pick up a small box of Godiva – that's the kind Wilson usually brings his dates.

He shows up at Stacy's promptly at 7:00 wearing beige dockers, a blue button down shirt, and a lightweight navy sport coat. He rings the bell. He's nervous. Shit. Why does he feel like he's in high school picking up his prom date? They already slept together for crissakes…

When Stacy opens the door, he quickly looks her up and down. She's wearing a black v-neck, knee-length dress and medium-heeled black pumps. She has around her shoulders a lightweight black shawl with small silver embroidered flowers. "Wow!" He sucks in his breath. "I was expecting you to wear a business suit or PJs!" Then, after a pause, he adds more quietly, "You look…great."

She laughs and says, "Thank you. You look very handsome yourself." She looks down at the gold foil box of chocolates tightly clutched in his left hand. "Are those, by any chance, for me?" Gah! He feels so ridiculously stupid! He can't think of what to say, so he just holds out the box and nods curtly.

She takes it from him and leans up to give him a kiss on the cheek. She can tell that he's usually not a flowers and candy kind of guy, which makes his efforts all the sweeter. And she thinks his awkwardness is actually kind of endearing.

**--------------------**

The restaurant is dimly lit by warm candlelight, and they are given a corner table for two. They look at their menus and decide to get fresh spring rolls, chicken satay, pad thai, and panang curry to share.

To Stacy's amazement, after Greg gives the waiter their order, he begins to exchange a few sentences with him in what she thinks must be Thai. When the waiter leaves, she stares at him with wide eyes and asks, "What did you two just say?"

"I asked him if he thought my date was hot. When he said he most certainly did, I got angry and told him to keep his hands to himself," he smirks.

"You didn't!" she says, highly amused.

"I asked him how hot the panang curry is. He told me it's medium-hot and then he asked me where I learned to speak Thai."

"Well, now I'm impressed," she says, her brown eyes sparkling from the candlelight. "Where in the world _did_ you learn to speak Thai?"

"Thailand, of course!" he smirks. "I spent a summer there when I was 9. My father was a Marine pilot in Vietnam and my uncle was stationed at a Royal Thai Air Force Base. My aunt, my mom, and I went to visit. We stayed in a guesthouse just outside of Bangkok."

"Wow. What was it like?"

"Well, I ate a heck of a lot of mangoes and coconut curry! Saw a lot of Buddhas. And it was _hot_. I spent most of my time exploring the grounds with Mali, the daughter of the cook. She was around my age. And I picked up some Thai," he shrugs.

"It must have been difficult for you with your father away so much of the time."

"To tell you the truth, I was always happiest when he wasn't around," he says quietly. He looks down and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, so she changes the subject.

"So where else did you live?"

"Lots of bases in the US. Not very exciting. Although we did live in Egypt for a while when I was in my teens. I thought mummies were pretty cool. Read books on embalming," he smiles at her.

"Is that when you decided to become a doctor?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Maybe. Sort of. Even before then I was given a medical guide, for my 12th birthday, I think. I read it from cover to cover right away and I studied all the anatomical drawings. Memorized the musculoskeletal system within a week and then moved on to internal organs. Boring story, I'm afraid."

"I don't think it's boring at all," she says, as she reaches across the table and puts her hand on his. He looks down at her small hand resting on his and resists the urge to pull away.

"Enough about me. Tell me something about you," he says.

"Well, there's not much to tell, really. I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi, double-majored in Poli Sci and English at the University of Mississippi and then I got my law degree from Georgetown. The only time I've ever been out of the country was to go to a law conference in Amsterdam a couple of years ago."

"Did you like Amsterdam?"

"Aside from the conference, all I managed to do was visit the Rijksmuseum. I had hoped to take a side trip to Paris, but there wasn't time…See? Boring."

"Why Paris?" he asks her.

"I've wanted to go to Paris ever since I was 16 and I saw _Gigi_ on television. I became enamored with the _idea_ of Paris…and, of course, I developed a major crush on Louis Jourdan." She smiles and looks down. "Then I read just about all of Colette's works that I could get my hands on. Anyway, I'm sure Paris will be a huge letdown if I ever really have a chance to go." She laughs lightly.

After dinner Greg pays the bill with a credit card. As they leave the restaurant, he puts a hand on the small of Stacy's back and gently guides her ahead of him.

(To Be Continued...)


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 6)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 5 ended:

_After dinner Greg pays the bill with a credit card. As they leave the restaurant, he puts a hand on the small of Stacy's back and gently guides her ahead of him._

**--------------------**

When they arrive at her townhouse, Stacy invites Greg in for a drink.

"Again, I apologize for the mess," she says as she takes off her shawl and drapes it over a stack of boxes. "Have a seat." She gestures to the sofa. "So what'll it be? Coffee? Scotch? Or I have a good bottle of sherry…"

"Sherry's good," he says as he sits down.

"We'll have to drink it out of plastic cups, I'm afraid. My wine glasses are all packed." She goes into the kitchen and quickly reappears with the box of chocolates he brought, which she sets on the coffee table, and the sherry and two cups. She fills each, hands him one, and sits down on the sofa next to him.

"To a lovely evening," she says as she raises her cup.

"And great company," he says as they tap their plastic cups together.

They each take a couple of sips and then there is a moment of silence. Greg is staring down into his cup trying to think of something witty – or at least something nice – to say, when Stacy speaks.

"About the other night…" she begins awkwardly. "You might find this hard to believe, but I don't make a habit of going home with men I've just met."

I believe you," he tells her, meeting her eyes.

"In fact, that was the first time. It's important to me that you know that," she continues.

He looks at her and nods curtly. "Well, as long as we're playing 'true confessions,' I don't usually hang out at strip clubs, either. It was a bachelor party for my friend Wilson. He's in Hawaii on his honeymoon now." He's not sure why he adds the last bit, as if she cares where Wilson is on his honeymoon.

"Oh, is Wilson the guy who came by when we were standing by the restrooms smoking?" she asks as she picks up the box of chocolates, opens it, and extends it to him.

He nods as he takes a piece of dark chocolate and puts the whole piece into his mouth.

Stacy selects a cream-filled chocolate and, as she bites into it, closes her eyes. "Mmm! Nothing like Godiva!" She smiles at him and he's really glad he brought the chocolates.

"So…," she begins. "Why, exactly, did you tell me to leave so abruptly the other night?" she asks him, point blank.

"I was afraid you would ask that," he says quietly as he stares down into his sherry. "I'm sorry. I…I felt…I don't know. I thought it was just one night…" He feels completely exposed and vulnerable. But somewhere deep down he knows he has to be truthful with her if there's any chance of this working out. "…but then…I realized I…I like you. And I felt…well…I didn't think…you felt the same…"

She reaches out and takes his face in her hands, gently turning him to look at her. "You didn't even give me a chance," she says quietly, studying his features.

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispers. He never apologizes to anyone. Ever. And he's done it twice in just a few minutes. Now he's in trouble, he thinks. But then he feels her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth slowly circling his own – she tastes like chocolate and sherry – and he just doesn't care. At all.

(To Be Continued...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 7)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 6 ended:

_"I know. I'm sorry," he whispers. He never apologizes to anyone. Ever. And he's done it twice in just a few minutes. Now he's in trouble, he thinks. But then he feels her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth slowly circling his own – she tastes like chocolate and sherry – and he just doesn't care. At all._

**--------------------**

Last time they did this, they were hurried and rough. This time they are more leisurely, their tongues languorously probing, caressing, building up a slow burn. He's been patient, allowing her to set the pace – and enjoying it – but he is becoming painfully aroused and isn't sure where this is going. He slowly pulls his mouth away from hers, takes a moment to catch his breath, and then puts his forehead against hers. They are both breathing deeply, and their mouths are still so close that they are breathing each other's air. "Stacy. I think I should go… If I don't leave now…" He doesn't want to leave. But he doesn't want her to think it's _just_ about the sex either.

"Stay," she says, pulling back slightly so she can look into his eyes.

He swallows. "Do you _want_ me to stay?"

"I want you to stay," she says. As if to prove it, she runs her tongue along his jawbone and down his neck. Then she slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, kissing the newly exposed skin after each button is undone. His eyelids are heavy with desire and she hears him groan softly. "Bedroom," she says as she pulls away and stands up, holding out her hand to him.

He rises and takes her hand. This is when he notices she's shaking. He puts his arms around her and pulls her close to him. Then he says in her ear, in a deep voice, "Stacy, why are you trembling?"

She looks at him. "A little nervous…" she says tentatively with a small smile.

"You weren't nervous the other night." He studies her face carefully. "Why now?" he asks.

"This is altogether different," she whispers, looking up into his intense blue eyes.

He swallows and tells her only, "I know."

Unlike last time they made love, when they practically tore each other's clothes off, now they undress each other slowly and deliberately, exploring the landscapes of each other's bodies. This time it is slow and gentle and sweet; they savor every caress, every sensation, concentrating on drawing out their pleasure as long as possible. In the final moments he chokes out, "Stacy…open your…eyes. Please. Look…at me." He desperately needs her to know everything he feels but cannot say. She struggles to comply, and when she looks into his incredibly blue, unbelievably expressive eyes, what she sees in them nearly takes her breath away.

Afterward, Greg lies on his back and Stacy rests her head on his chest. He has one arm around her and is absent-mindedly tracing circles on her back. She thinks about how hard and fast she's falling, and it scares her. She thought she was in love before, but she's never felt _like this_. Ever since she can remember, she has forced herself to confront her fears head on, and she won't allow herself to cower now. She plants a kiss on his chest, takes a deep breath, and speaks. "Greg, I'm falling in love with you," she says matter-of-factly. She cannot look him in the eye.

Her statement is met with silence. Though he says nothing, his hand on her back stops moving. She thinks he's going to tell her to leave again, but then realizes this time they are in _her_ bed so if anyone is leaving, it will be him. It seems like an eternity, but it's really only a minute or two before he responds. He turns her face up to look at him. She's nervous as he studies her features. Finally, he says only, "Move in with me."

"Move in with you?" she asks, startled.

"Why not? I think you'd have a lot more fun with me than your college girlfriend," he tells her, raising his eyebrows. She stares up at him intently with her big, brown eyes, and he has to avert his gaze. Then he says very quietly, "Maybe I'm falling, too." Neither says anything else, both absorbed in their own thoughts, and they fall asleep in each other's arms.

**--------------------**

A couple of hours later, Stacy awakens. "Greg? Greg? Are you awake?" She gently brushes his cheek with her hand.

"I am now," he says, opening one eye to look at her.

"Hungry?" she asks.

He grins and says, "I could eat something. What have you got?"

"Actually, not much, since I'm moving out." She mentally goes through her refrigerator, freezer, and cupboards. "I've got some English muffins, apples, microwave popcorn…oh, and the ice cream you brought the other night!"

He smiles and says ice cream would be good. She gets out of bed and he watches her slide into a silky robe. "You're beautiful," he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can screen himself.

She smiles and goes into the kitchen. A moment later she returns to bed with a pint of raspberry sorbet, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, a half pint of chocolate fudge swirl, and two spoons.

"So what's your favorite kind of ice cream?" she asks as she starts eating out of the raspberry sorbet carton.

"Love ice cream. All kinds. Mint chocolate chip is good," he replies as he shoves an enormous spoonful into his mouth.

"Favorite beer?"

He shrugs. "Grolsch, I guess."

"Favorite poet?"

"Favorite poet? Hmmm. Byron," he responds, as he reaches over and dips his spoon into her raspberry sorbet.

"Ah, an English Romantic. Personally, I prefer Modernists like Cummings. What's your favorite literary work?"

"_The Grapes of Wrath_. Stacy, what the hell _is_ this? Twenty questions?" he asks her, slightly exasperated.

"You can learn a lot about a person based on what they read. Humor me. I just want to know stuff about you, what you like." She smiles at him and he can't stay irritated.

"You already know what I like," he says slyly, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She smiles and rolls her eyes, and he flings a spoon of mint chocolate chip ice cream at her. It lands on her chest and begins to slide down the front of her robe.

"Hey! What was that for?" she asks. He grins and buries his face in her chest, licking off the ice cream.

She retaliates by lobbing a spoon of chocolate fudge swirl at him…and a short while later they are both sticky and in need of a shower. They gently wash each other and make love again.

The intensity of her feelings for him is indescribable. Whatever is between them is beautiful, enchanting, magical, she thinks. And she's fucking _insane_! She sounds like a cheap romance novel. She prides herself on reason and rational thought, and the things she's feeling and thinking are completely incongruous. She's not religious and she doesn't believe in new-age spirituality or the notion of soul mates, but she can't help feeling that she and Greg are destined to be together. So when he wraps a large bath towel around her and once again asks her to move in with him, she agrees. "Just until I find a new place," she tells him. But they both suspect the arrangement won't be temporary.

(To Be Continued...)


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 8)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 7 ended:

_She's not religious and she doesn't believe in new-age spirituality or the notion of soul mates, but she can't help feeling that she and Greg are destined to be together. So when he wraps a large bath towel around her and once again asks her to move in with him, she agrees. "Just until I find a new place," she tells him. But they both suspect the arrangement won't be temporary._

**--------------------**

It's Thursday morning and House is in his office, reclining with his feet on his desk, absent-mindedly tossing his Magic 8 Ball back and forth from one hand to the other. He smiles to himself thinking about the night he's just spent with Stacy. It's been a slow morning, which is good because they hardly slept at all and he's exhausted. But it's also bad, because now he has time – too much time – to think. And analyze. And doubt.

He asked her to move in with him. He's surprised that he didn't regret it the moment the words were out of his mouth. But what she said…what she said just before…_"Greg, I'm falling in love with you."_ That's what she said. Falling. In love. With him. Greg. And then he told her _maybe_ he was falling, too. Shit. Suddenly he feels anxiety and panic wash through him.

_Is_ he falling in love with her? He thinks so, but he's really not certain. In fact, he's pretty sure he's never really been in love before.

Once in high school he _thought_ he was in love with a girl in his English class. He spent months staring at her from afar. Finally, he got up the nerve to ask her to dance at a homecoming event his mom made him attend. The next week her father was transferred and she moved away leaving him moody and heartbroken. But that was only teenage angst.

In college he had a few one-night stands and dated on-and-off, but he never felt a particularly deep connection with anyone. Then there was Claire. They met in med school and they saw each other for over a year. It ended because he was unable to return her love. He never knew why. She was smart and attractive; they had fun together and the sex was good. But he just didn't love her. He couldn't lie, and he wasn't upset when it ended.

That's when he first decided that he's emotionally broken somehow. Fatally flawed. Incapable of love.

So how can he be falling in love with Stacy? He knows that feelings, amorphous and intangible, cannot be understood via a differential diagnosis, but he tries anyway. He's known Stacy for less than a week, yet he couldn't love Claire even after a year. Is love independent of time? Maybe. Or is it that Stacy isn't Claire, and he's different than he was ten years ago? Possibly. Is it because he senses that Stacy "gets" him on some level? Perhaps. Because she's truthful and direct and says what she's thinking? Probably. Or is it simply that when he's with her he feels like there is no one else in the world, and when he's not with her she's all he can think about?

This scares the shit out of him. What if he can't love her? What if he makes her miserable? What if this is all a mistake? If he has any feelings for her at all, he should spare her now, before it's too late. Right? He turns over the Magic 8 Ball, seeking an answer. "Reply hazy, try again." He sighs and sets the useless ball on his desk, just as Stacy appears in the doorway.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" he inquires, smiling, as he stands up to greet her.

"Just on my lunch break. I thought I'd stop by and thank you again for dinner last night," she replies with a grin.

"I think you've definitely thanked me already. Numerous times, in fact," he says lasciviously. Then he remembers everything he's been pondering for the better part of an hour. "I was just thinking about you…moving in with me. I just…if you want to reconsider…" he says seriously, not meeting her eyes.

"Are you withdrawing your invitation because you've changed your mind? Or are you giving me an out?" she asks simply.

He shrugs and, looking at the floor, says, "I'm not _really_ a flowers and candy kind of guy."

She moves closer and takes his face in her hands. Looking him in the eyes, she says with a smile, "I know that, Greg. I don't care."

"I've never been good at the relationship thing," he continues. "I've been told I'm an insensitive jerk on more than one occasion, and I'm pretty sure I'm not easy to live with…" His voice trails off as he realizes he might not really want to talk her out of moving in with him.

"I have never been one to turn down a challenge, and I'm not about to start now," she says confidently, her hands still on his face. He detects a hint of sparkle in her warm brown eyes.

Crap. Just seeing her, talking with her, makes him…feel…things. He can't back out now – and he doesn't want to anyway. He leans down and kisses her and then his beeper goes off. As he pulls away from her and reaches for it, he says, "Why don't you come over tonight. We can get a pizza and a six-pack and figure out where we'll put your stuff."

(To Be Continued…)


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 9)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 8 ended:

_Crap. Just seeing her, talking with her, makes him…feel…things. He can't back out now – and he doesn't want to anyway. He leans down and kisses her and then his beeper goes off. As he pulls away from her and reaches for it, he says, "Why don't you come over tonight. We can get a pizza and a six-pack and figure out where we'll put your stuff."_

**--------------------**

Stacy arrives at Greg's townhouse at a little after 7:00 pm and rings the doorbell. Greg, wearing jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, opens the door almost immediately. Before she can say anything, he pulls her to him, gives her a fervent kiss, and says in a deep voice, "Hi."

"Hi yourself," she says a bit breathlessly as she sets a small duffel bag on the floor next to the door.

He puts one arm around her waist and extends the other out toward the living room. "Mi casa es su casa!"

Her eyes move rapidly, taking it all in – the leather furniture, the overflowing bookcases lining almost every wall, the television, the guitars…and, of course, the baby grand piano. Greg notices. "You've been here before," he tells her.

"Last time we were a bit too…goal-oriented…for me to look around. And, remember, I had to make a hasty exit!" She's just teasing, but she thinks she sees a trace of hurt on his face, so she makes a mental note not to joke about it anymore.

He ignores her comment. "So! I'm hungry. What kind of pizza do you like?"

"I'll eat just about anything on a pizza – with the exception of anchovies, that is."

"Oh, no. This is _not_ good," he says with great concern in his voice. "Double anchovy pizzas are my favorite." He looks at her with a serious expression on his face.

"You, my dear doctor, are _lying_," she says flippantly with absolute certainty.

"It's the truth. I swear," he says, raising his right hand as if taking an oath.

"Greg, I'm an attorney. You can't lie to me. Get used to it." She's talking about pizza preferences, but he knows that this applies to more than just trivial matters.

"Okay! You got me! Pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, and black olives?"

"Sounds terrific. I'm just going to change out of my work clothes and freshen up, okay?" She walks over to her duffel bag and picks it up. As she turns around, she almost bumps into Greg.

"Sure, but it's fine with me if you don't wear anything at all." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he begins to unbutton her suit jacket. "Just so you know…"

She smiles and removes his hands with her own. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, about the pizza…" She spots the phone on an end table, picks up the receiver, and places it into his hand before disappearing into the bathroom.

Stacy returns to the living room wearing jeans and a white blouse. She walks over to the piano and slowly runs her hand across the top of it, her eyes fixed on two guitars mounted on the wall across the room. Greg emerges from the kitchen and hands her a cold beer. "I didn't know you were a musician," she says.

"It's a hobby. I goof around on the guitars – the one on the left is a Gibson. The other is a Fender Stratocaster. Same kind used by Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton," he says with a hint of pride.

"And what about the baby grand?" she asks with interest, now leaning on it.

He shrugs. "Took lessons when I was a kid," he says as he seats himself on the piano bench.

"Did you want to, or was it something your parents made you do?" she asks.

"My mom played a little bit. Thought I should learn. My dad…," he pauses for a long moment before continuing. "My dad thought it was stupid." He looks down, intently staring at his hands. "Boys should do stuff like sports, hunting. You know. Learn to be a man."

She wants to ask him more about it, but she doesn't want to push. She is acutely aware that he is uncomfortable talking about his dad so, although she wants to know everything about him, she tells herself to be patient and only nods.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Not much musical talent, I'm afraid. I played the clarinet – very badly – in junior high school. Then I gave it up for cheerleading."

"Cheerleading!" His face breaks out into an enormous grin as high school fantasies flood his mind.

She can't help but laugh at his expression of childish delight. "It turned out I wasn't very good at that, either. A year later I joined the debate club instead. Finally found something I have a natural talent for," she smiles.

"You gave up cheerleading? How _could_ you?" He puts on an extremely disappointed face. "You _did_ wear one of those short-short skirts, right? And…bounce…up and down with pom-poms?"

"Nice," she says and rolls her eyes. "I tell you I finally found something I had aptitude for – that ultimately resulted in my career choice, by the way – but you're only interested in my cheerleading uniform."

He shrugs. "Well you can hardly blame a guy for, uh --"

The doorbell interrupts his attempted explanation. "Guess you're saved by the proverbial bell," she smirks.

They sit on the leather sofa, the pizza and their beers on the coffee table. "So, about your stuff," he begins. "I don't really know what exactly you have – besides the furniture – since it's already packed in boxes." He takes a large bite of pizza and washes it down with beer.

"I've already arranged for the movers to take most of my furniture to a storage facility until I find a permanent place –," she begins, but he interrupts her.

"I'm pretty sure _this_ is your permanent place. Bring whatever you want here. I'll make room." Again, he's surprised at the things he says when he's with her. He's becoming an enigma to himself, which he finds more than a little unsettling.

"Just this morning you told me you're difficult and insensitive and that I might want to reconsider." She raises an eyebrow warily, as she takes a swig of beer.

He likes that she seems perfectly at home drinking beer from a bottle and eating pizza out of the box. "Ah, but you said you like a challenge – and _that_ is one thing I am certain I can provide!"

After polishing off the pizza, Greg shows Stacy the spare room that he uses as an office, pointing out that there's enough room for her desk and some more bookcases. Then they discuss which pieces of her furniture she will bring over and which will go in storage. He tells her he'll clear out one of the closets in the master bedroom, as well as half the vanity in the master bath, and then he shows her around the kitchen, telling her he'll make space for all her things.

Stacy begins to feel nervous about the whole idea and Greg sees it in her face. "Wanna' back out?" he asks her, opening the refrigerator and getting them each another beer.

"No. It's just…it happened so quickly…Do you? Wanna' back out?"

"Nope." He holds out the beer and she takes it. "Scared?"

"Of course. You?" She asks, leaning back against the counter.

"Heck, yeah," he says softly, putting his hands on the counter on either side of her. "But I think we owe it to ourselves to try."

They share a deep kiss and then Stacy asks him if he will play something for her on the piano.

"Sure. What do you want to hear?" he asks as they head into the living room.

"Whatever you'd like to play."

He situates himself on the piano bench and lifts up the lid while she sits in the chair nearest the piano and curls her feet up underneath her. He begins to play Chopin's Ballade No. 3, A flat major, Op. 47. She knows only that it's Chopin. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the music for a few minutes. As the ballade gets more complex, she understands what an incredibly gifted pianist he is. She's about to tell him this, but she looks over and sees that his eyes are closed and he is completely enraptured by the music.

Quietly, she walks up behind him and watches his strong hands, beautiful long fingers, dance effortlessly across the keys. She reaches over his shoulders and smoothes her hands down his chest. His playing slows and he bends his head back to look up into her eyes. She leans down so that her mouth is right by his ear and says, "Don't stop playing. It's lovely." Feeling her warm breath on his cheek and her breasts pressing against his back, he finds this a difficult request to honor but somehow he manages.

That is, until a few minutes later, when she is beside him on the bench, her hand moving slowly along his inner thigh. He stops playing altogether, inhales sharply, and firmly grasps her hand. "Don't stop playing," she says again.

His eyes, full of desire, lock onto hers, his face merely inches away. His voice cracks as he says quietly, "Don't fuck with me."

She moves her face even closer and says in a sexy drawl, "See, I think that's _exactly_ what you want me to do with you."

"C'mere," he says gruffly as he pulls her astride his lap. Then they're kissing, he's unbuttoning her blouse, she's moving against him. He fleetingly thinks how hot it is that they're about to make love at his piano when, suddenly, the bench tips over and they tumble to the floor. They both burst out laughing. "Well! So much for piano sex!" he exclaims.

"Not all fantasies are meant to come true!" How does she know what he's thinking? "Anyway, I hear floor sex can be pretty good…" She's still laughing as their mouths and bodies come together once again…

(To Be Continued...)


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 10)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...  
**Note:** It is my understanding that there are no pending copyrights on literature more than 100 years old; since the Byron poem in this chapter was written in 1824, I believe it is in the public domain and, thus, okay to include it here.

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 9 ended:

_"Not all fantasies are meant to come true!" How does she know what he's thinking? "Anyway, I hear floor sex can be pretty good…" She's still laughing as their mouths and bodies come together once again…_

**--------------------**

The next day Stacy meets Jill, her old college friend who is now a freelance lobbyist, for lunch at a cafe near her office. Stacy explains that she won't be staying with her after all since she's met Greg.

"You just met this man exactly one week ago – at a strip club, no less – and now you're moving in with him?" Jill stares at her in disbelief.

Stacy's not sure how to explain this, so she only nods as she stabs a cherry tomato off the top of her salad and puts it in her mouth.

"Stace, we've been friends since sophomore year of college. That's over 15 years – and I've never known you to be so impulsive. In fact, you've always been annoyingly rational. So what gives?"

Stacy looks thoughtful for a moment and does this thing she does where she pulls her shoulders up and moves her head to the side. "I know. I _know_ you think it's crazy. _I_ think it's crazy. But I've never met anyone like him. He's…he's…" She struggles for the right words to describe him. "He's brilliant, well-read, confident, a bit arrogant, actually--"

"Always a good quality in a man," Jill says sarcastically, pouring dressing on her salad.

Stacy ignores her and continues. "He's funny, witty, acerbic…charming, enthusiastic… Jill, this sounds all wrong, like a bad cliché. I can't explain it. I don't know why. All I really know is I'm falling in love with him and I…I think…he might be the one." Saying it out loud scares her, but it's the truth.

"I've never heard you go on like this about anyone you've dated before, and you've never given me any reason to think that you were even looking for 'the one,' so I have to believe that he must be something special," Jill says smiling, "but I'll reserve final judgment until I meet him."

"You can't! Not yet! Um…I mean…I'm still getting to know him myself. Anyway, I want Rick to meet him, too. When will he be in town?" Jill's husband Rick is an airline pilot with an erratic schedule.

"He'll be home for two weeks straight next month." She lowers her voice and leans in conspiratorially. "Now, about the sex…I assume it's good?"

"Unbelievably good! And," she adds with a grin, "he's extremely attentive."

"Glad to hear it! Just remember, you're always welcome to stay with us if you need to."

**--------------------**

Sunday morning Stacy officially moves in with Greg. True to his word, he has made room for her things. He even helps her unpack them. The monotonous task goes quickly as they talk, laugh, and, on occasion, stop to kiss, and by late afternoon, her clothes, toiletries and kitchen items are in their proper places. For dinner they eat Chinese take-out right out of the cartons, and then Greg leaves for the airport to pick up Wilson and Susan who are returning from their honeymoon in Hawaii.

**--------------------**

As they walk from the baggage claim to House's car, Wilson and Susan chatter animatedly about all the things they've seen and done, from snorkeling to hula dancing. Finally, as they arrive at his car, House is able to get a word in edgewise. "Frankly, I'm surprised! I didn't think you two would leave the room. Trouble in paradise already?"

Wilson ignores the comment and Susan, who doesn't really understand what Wilson sees in House, rolls her eyes and climbs into the back seat while the guys load the luggage into the trunk.

"I met someone," House tells Wilson as he hoists an enormous suitcase into the trunk. "What the hell is _in_ here?"

"Susan bought souvenirs. What do you mean, you met someone?"

"Stacy. She moved in with me this morning. What'd she buy?"

"Statues, clothes, a lot of seashells…Wait! House! Who the hell is Stacy?"

"She's an attorney. Smart. Pretty." House rearranges the luggage to squeeze in one more suitcase, looks Wilson in the eye, and adds with a big smile, "And sexy as hell!"

"And you…you asked her…to…to live…with you?" Wilson looks at House dubiously, his brow furrowed in confusion, as House slams the trunk shut.

"Yep."

Wilson stares at House in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me! Right? This is a joke!"

"No joke, Jimmy. She moved in with me," House replies.

"I…I go away for a week…_one week_…and when I get back Greg House, confirmed bachelor…has _invited_ a woman to move in with him? This is just…well…unbelievable!"

"All true."

"I just…I'm surprised…Oh, God! House! Is she _pregnant_?"

At this House gives Wilson a cold glare and responds irritably, "_No!_ She's not _pregnant_. What kind of a question is _that_?"

Wilson only shrugs, so House continues, "I didn't say I'm _marrying_ her! Besides it's not like we're in high school. And I'm a doctor; I know about birth control!" he says somewhat annoyed.

"It's just that…you haven't been in a real relationship in…well…since I've known you. I didn't even think you…wanted…one."

"Neither did I," House says under his breath.

Before Wilson can respond, Susan leans out the window and urges them to hurry, effectively ending their conversation.

**--------------------**

While Greg is picking up Wilson and Susan, Stacy thinks she should probably begin unpacking her law books in the study, but she's too tired. Instead she opens a beer and begins to browse through Greg's bookshelves. There are numerous medical books and journals, science books and biographies, classics and poetry, and some contemporary paperback mysteries. They appear to be roughly arranged by category. She removes a book of Byron's poetry from the shelf and curls up on the sofa with it.

She remembers that she wrote an essay on "She Walks in Beauty" when she was in college, so she looks it up in the index and begins to leaf through the pages to find it. She is sidetracked when she encounters a page that is marked by a deliberately folded-down corner. The poem is "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year." She reads:

'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,  
Since others it hath ceased to move:  
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,  
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;  
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;  
The worm, the canker, and the grief,  
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys  
Is lone as some volcanic isle;  
No torch is kindled at its blaze -  
A funeral pile!

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,  
The exalted portion of the pain  
And power of love, I cannot share,  
But wear the chain.

But 'tis not thus -and 'tis not here -  
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now,  
Where glory decks the hero's bier,  
Or binds his brow.

The sword, the banner, and the field,  
Glory and Greece, around me see!  
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,  
Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece -she is awake!)  
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom  
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,  
And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down,  
Unworthy manhood! -unto thee  
Indifferent should the smile or frown  
Of beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?  
The land of honourable death  
Is here: -up to the field, and give  
Away thy breath!

Seek out -less often sought than found -  
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;  
Then look around, and choose thy ground,  
And take thy rest.

She doesn't remember having read this in college, but thinks she may have, nevertheless. It's such a melancholy poem…the inability to be loved, the pain of loneliness, regrets of youth, the honor and solitude in death. She briefly thinks the marking of that particular poem may be from Greg's college days, or just a favorite for some reason. Little does she know how deeply personal it is for him. She has no idea that this is an important key to understanding the man with whom she's falling in love. She won't learn this for some time.

Hearing his car pull into the driveway, she returns the book to the shelf and goes to greet him at the door.

He feigns surprise. "What are _you_ doing here?" he teases.

"I live here now. Remember?" She plays along. "How's Wilson? How was the honeymoon?" she asks.

"You know, I really don't want to talk about Wilson tonight," he says softly as he leans down to kiss her.

(To Be Continued...)


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 11)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...  
**Note:** Includes dialogue from the episode "Three Stories"

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 10 ended:

_Hearing his car pull into the driveway, she returns the book to the shelf and goes to greet him at the door._

_He feigns surprise. "What are _you_ doing here?" he teases._

_"I live here now. Remember?" She plays along. "How's Wilson? How was the honeymoon?" she asks._

_"You know, I really don't want to talk about Wilson tonight," he says softly as he leans down to kiss her._

_  
_**--------------------**

(Back to the Present – Stacy Waiting While Greg has the Surgery)

"Stacy?" Her reverie about the first week of her life with Greg is interrupted by Cuddy, who is standing in front of her with a cup of coffee and a bagel. "You have to eat something. Here." She holds them out to Stacy.

"Thanks, Lisa. I can't eat, but I'll take the coffee. Is there any word yet?"

"No. He's only been in there for about an hour," she says, looking at her watch. "I promise I'll let you know when I learn something. At least take a few bites of the bagel."

Stacy agrees hesitantly. "Have you been able to get in touch with James yet?"

"I've left several messages for him at the conference hotel in Sydney. I haven't heard back yet."

"Thanks again, Lisa," she says.

"You made the right decision."

She knows in her heart she made the right decision. She hopes he'll find a way to understand, to forgive her. She can't imagine her life without him in it. She thinks about their conversation earlier in the day, right before he fell into the induced coma:

"_I'll see you when I wake up. We'll go golfing. I love you."_

"_I love you, too. I'm sorry."_

"_You've got nothing to be sorry about."_

He taught her how to play golf. She's terrible at it, and he teases her, but they still have fun. She wipes away a few tears that, once again, have begun to trail down her cheeks, as she remembers the day they first said "I love you" to one another.

(Flashback…)

She says it first, of course. They've only been living together for a couple of months. It's a Sunday morning. As usual, they linger in bed, make love, read _The New York Times_. And they do the crossword puzzle together, seeing who can fill in the most squares. It's always a contest since they're both so competitive; the loser has to pay for brunch, the winner chooses the restaurant. He's teasing her because she is dismally behind on this particular morning.

"This is pathetic!" he tells her. "You're not even trying! You're sucking the sweetness out of my victory." He turns his attention from the puzzle to her and sees that she's staring at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "What?" he asks her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She gazes intently into his blue, blue eyes and says simply, "I love you. I just really, really love you."

She sees a look of panic cross his face and understands that he can't say it yet. To show him that she doesn't require a response, she puts her fingers up to his lips and says, "Shhh. You don't need to say a word." And to prove it she presses her lips on his and kisses him deeply. She already knows how he feels about her – through his actions, the way he looks at her, the way he touches her. She doesn't need to hear the words.

They have brunch at Greg's favorite café with Cuban-inspired cuisine. In the late afternoon Wilson comes over to watch sports on tv with Greg, another Sunday tradition. She and Wilson hit it off since they first met, so, on occasion, she joins them. She doesn't want to become a third wheel in their friendship, though – he's Greg's only real friend – and she's not a big sports fan, so she usually reads or works in another room or sees her friends Greg doesn't like. Today she's feeling lazy so she puts on pajamas and reads in bed, joining the guys only briefly for some pizza they order for dinner.

Later, when she goes to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Wilson is getting another beer out of the refrigerator. "I don't know what kind of spell you have over him, but I hope it never wears off! I've never seen him this happy," he tells her. She smiles.

Then Greg enters. "Hey, Jimmy! Better not be making a move on my girl!"

"Well that was the plan, but now that _you're_ here, there's really no point," Wilson says dryly.

Stacy, coffee cup in hand, brushes past Greg as she leaves the kitchen, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the lips. "I'm not your property, you know," she says with a smile.

It's almost 10:00 pm by the time Wilson leaves. Greg finds Stacy asleep in their bed, lamp still on, book open next to her. He sits down on the bed and she doesn't stir. He thinks about how beautiful she looks, her long dark hair spread out on the pillow, and how much he loves her. He does. He knows it. So why is it so hard to say? He sighs and whispers, "I do love you." Then he puts her book on the bedside table and turns off the lamp. He doesn't see her eyes open slightly, doesn't know she heard.

He finally tells her out loud almost three months later. It's a November afternoon and Stacy's driving home from a hearing in Newark in a blizzard. Cars on I-95 are traveling at less than 20 mph and drivers, she included, periodically need to get out of their vehicles to brush snow off the hood and windows. What is normally only an hour drive from Newark to Princeton turns into more than three. It doesn't occur to her to exit the freeway and phone Greg (the ramps are practically impassable anyway); he will know she is late due to the blizzard.

She's exhausted and immensely relieved when she finally pulls into the garage of their townhouse. Before she's even through the door connecting the garage to the kitchen, Greg begins to scream at her. "Where the hell have you been?"

She's taken aback. He's never raised his voice to her before. "Greg, I told you--"

He interrupts her. "Can't you pick up a phone and call?" She's never seen him this angry.

"Don't scream at me! I thought --"

Again he interrupts. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Ah. Now she understands and replies calmly. "Greg, I told you this morning that I was going to be in Newark this afternoon. Traffic on I-95 was hardly moving. I figured you'd know that it was just taking me longer because of the blizzard."

"Newark? Oh. Yeah," he says sheepishly. "Forgot. Sorry." He puts his arms around her, pulls her to him tightly, and rests his chin on her head. Then he swallows and says gruffly, "I thought maybe something had happened…" His voice trails off and then he adds, more gently, "I love you. You know that, right?"

(Back to the Present)

An orderly bumps a cart in the hallway outside the waiting area, causing numerous metal items to clatter to the floor, rousing Stacy back to the present. As she turns toward the cacophony, the telephone on the table next to the door catches her eye and she briefly wonders if she should call Greg's parents. She doesn't like them, and she knows Greg wouldn't want them here, but they're still his parents. She could tell them what's happening and convince them not to come to Princeton, she thinks. But then she remembers her interactions with them and what a number they've done on Greg…

(To Be Continued…)


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 12)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...  
**Note:** Includes dialogue from the episode "Three Stories"

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 11 ended:

_She doesn't like them, and she knows Greg wouldn't want them here, but they're still his parents. She could tell them what's happening and convince them not to come to Princeton, she thinks. But then she remembers her interactions with them and what a number they've done on Greg…_

**--------------------**

As Stacy nurses the coffee Lisa brought her, she thinks about the events of the day before.

(Flashback to Events of the Day Before)

Greg has awoken from the surgery to remove the blockage in extreme pain. He's hopped up on as much morphine as possible, but he's still writhing in pain, sweating, and even screaming. It's nearly unbearable to watch someone you love hurting this much. She's constantly by his side, pressing a cold, wet washcloth to his forehead, holding his hand. In the moments when the pain seems to ebb, she talks to him soothingly, tries to take his mind off of it, and hopes that it's an indication that he's improving. But the waves of excruciating pain keep returning.

In one of his less agonizing moments, he tries to convince her to go home and get some rest. He tells her he's going to try to sleep. She doesn't believe him; she knows when he's lying. And she can see the pain etched into his face. Having been at the hospital for two days straight, she reluctantly agrees, telling him she'll just shower and come right back.

She returns in just over an hour. As she walks down the hall to Greg's room, she sees numerous medical personnel rushing in and she panics. She begins to run. As soon as she gets to the door of his room she is forcefully pushed out and restrained by an orderly who won't tell her what is happening. Tears well up in her eyes as she struggles unsuccessfully to free herself. Finally Lisa emerges from the room and motions for the orderly to let go of her.

"Wh-What's going on?" Her tears are freely falling now and she's afraid of the answer to her question.

"He's okay, Stacy. He went into cardiac arrest, but we were able to get him back."

"Could it happen again?"

Lisa nods. "Unfortunately, yes. We hope that it won't, but it's not possible to predict --"

"But if the leg is amputated?" Stacy interrupts.

"That would eliminate the possibility of this type of complication. When he's awake, try to talk to him about it again."

This is when the reality hits her that Greg actually could die, regardless of what he tells her. She is fairly certain that he's making decisions based on his warped sense of self-worth rather than medical information. When Greg regains consciousness and she tries to get him to reconsider amputation, her suspicion is confirmed.

"We've got to let them cut the leg off," she pleads.

He looks at her. "It's my leg. It's my life."

"Would you give up your leg to save _my_ life?" She knows the answer, but asks anyway.

Without a moment of hesitation, he says, barely above a whisper, "Of course I would."

"Then why do you think your life is worth less than mine?" He swallows and doesn't respond, so she continues. "If this were any other patient, what would you tell them to do?" Again, she knows the answer.

He pauses for a moment and then says, "I would say it's their choice." He's lying. She knows it, and he knows that she knows it, but it doesn't change anything.

"Wha – not a chance! You'd browbeat them until they made the choice you knew was right. You'd shove it in their face that it's just a damn leg!" She's been trying to be calm and rational, but she's losing her patience and fighting back tears. "You don't think you deserve to live? You don't think you deserve to be happy?" She's crying and she can't hide it. "Now let them cut off your leg!"

"Sweetheart, I can't. I can't. I'm sorry," he tells her quietly but firmly.

Here's the part that keeps playing over and over again in her mind:

_Would you give up your leg to save my life? Of course I would. Then why do you think your life is worth less than mine? You don't think you deserve to live? You don't think you deserve to be happy?_

This is not a new subject for him, for them. They've gone round and round about this before. Deep down Greg doesn't believe that he deserves love or happiness. And now, as a result, he's risking his life. She's _not_ calling his parents.

**--------------------**

(Back to the Present as Stacy Waits While Greg's in Surgery)

Stacy's never regretted moving in with Greg, and with each passing year their relationship has grown stronger. They enjoy each other's company immensely; they are intellectually matched and deeply in love, and they intend to spend the rest of their lives together. (They never actually say this, but they have joint savings and allude to places they'll visit and where they will live when they retire.) But living with and loving Greg has never been easy.

He is outwardly arrogant and self-confident, especially about his deductive reasoning skills and medical expertise, as well he should be, but in almost every other way he is surprisingly insecure. It has taken a long time for him to accept that she loves him. He used to worry that he was incapable of loving anyone; now he agonizes over how anyone could love _him_. Every once in a while, when she says "I love you," he asks her why. He's not asking because he wants compliments or lists of attributes; he only wants to understand.

Love is something that is too ethereal and elusive for him to comprehend. He wants to quantify it, break it down. He points out his flaws, their flaws. He has an idealistic and romantic notion that love and loved ones should be perfect, which he knows he is not, yet she's afraid that sometimes he thinks _she_ is. She fears that he blindly holds her on a pedestal from which, inevitably, she will fall.

Greg also has a tendency to become withdrawn and pensive, spending hours – sometimes even days – at a time in his own mind, wrapped up in his own thoughts, hardly speaking to her at all. If he's like this due to a medical case he's trying to solve, she tries to understand; she knows this is how his mind works. But other times, she knows he is suffering from depression which, of course, he will never admit. Tormented by his own personal demons that he doesn't want to talk about, he completely shuts her out. This both worries her and hurts her feelings; during these times she feels terribly lonely.

She tries to get him to talk with her, to share his feelings, but she doesn't want to push or nag. Through the years she has earned his trust and he has grudgingly shared limited amounts of information with her. Clearly a lot of the self-esteem issues he struggles with have to do with his childhood and his parents.

And this is why she won't call them. In some subtle way she cannot precisely define, she knows they are partly accountable for Greg's adamant refusal to consider amputation. And she hates them for this.

**--------------------**

(Flashback…)

The first time he shares anything substantial with her about his parents, they've been together for just over a year. He's told his parents that Stacy lives with him; she's spoken to his mom on the phone a few times, but she's never met them. They live in North Carolina; his dad had been stationed at the Cherry Point Marine base before his retirement, and afterward he bought a house in town. His mom phones almost every week and she and Greg repeat the same mundane conversation each time. _How are you? Fine. Anything new? No. How's dad? Fine._ On rare occasions his father gets on the line. Stacy can tell immediately because she can see Greg tense, hear the strain in his voice.

One fall day, after Greg hangs up the phone, he tells Stacy his mom is coming to Princeton for a few days to see him and to meet her. "My dad's going deer hunting with some Marine cronies the weekend after next. My mom's going to stay with us from Friday to Sunday."

"How do you feel about it?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I couldn't tell her no."

"I look forward to meeting her," she says.

That night they go out for dinner with Stacy's best friend, Jill, and her husband Rick. They're the only friends of Stacy's that Greg actually likes – and, amazingly, they like him, too. As much as Stacy loves Greg, she knows that he can be rude and abrasive and is not everyone's cup of tea, but apparently Jill and Rick see in him what she sees and the four of them have a good time together. The only other couple they go out with is James and Susan, but neither she nor Greg is very fond of the latter. They go to an upscale restaurant that has candlelight and dancing. They talk, laugh, and drink, and after dinner, when Greg holds her on the dance floor as they sway with the music, she presses her body against him and nuzzles his neck. She immediately feels his body respond to her. She chuckles quietly and says, "You are so _easy_."

"You're evil," he growls, just before nipping at her ear lobe. Then he softly whispers in great detail what he plans to do with her when they get home.

"Greg!" Stacy gasps and feels herself flush, her body on fire.

"Turnabout is fair play," he whispers thickly, his blue eyes blazing into her.

She grabs his hand, leading him back to their table, where Jill and Rick have just returned from dancing themselves. "We, um, really need to be going," Stacy tells them and then clears her throat. Jill catches her eye and she just looks at the ground trying to hide her smile. Greg raises his hand for the check and he and Rick quickly settle the bill.

The 20-minute ride from the restaurant to their townhouse seems incredibly long. The minute they get in the door, his mouth crashes down onto hers and they're undressing each other on the way to the bedroom. What follows is hot and sexy and mind-blowing and loving, but, then, they've always been unbelievably good at _this_; it's the talking that's difficult.

Later, when they're lying face to face and holding each other in the afterglow, Stacy says, "So your dad's going hunting."

"Mmm-hmm," he says drowsily. Then, a little more alert, he says, "You want to know about my dad?"

"I want to know about _you_. But only if you want to talk about it," she says honestly, flitting her fingers across his chest.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, gently taking one of her hands and pressing it against his much larger one, palm to palm.

She entwines her fingers with his. "Did he take you hunting when you were growing up?"

"_Forced_ me to go hunting is more like it. Once." His voice is soft but edged with bitterness. She isn't sure if she should pursue this, but then he takes a deep breath and continues. With some of his Marine buddies and their sons. I didn't want to go. I didn't want anything to do with guns, and I certainly didn't want to kill a deer. So that's what I told him."

She waits to see if he'll continue and, after a few moments, he does.

"He chided me. Told me I needed to be a man. I didn't have a choice. I think I was about 10 or 11... It was sometime after Thailand and before Egypt…"

She squeezes his hand, silently urging him to continue.

"We got out into the woods, all geared up." He pauses. "One of the boys shot a deer right away. To my dad's horror, I burst into tears as I watched it fall." Then he says more softly, "The boy who shot it was a novice, and the deer didn't die right away. It suffered. I've never forgotten that."

Even though it's dark, a slice of moonlight coming in between the curtains illuminates his face, and she can see a trace of sadness. "Then what happened?" She's afraid of the answer.

"Dad called me a sissy." He laughs humorlessly. "Told me for the millionth time how much I disappointed him."

She's surprised he's shared so much, and she doesn't know how to respond, so she caresses his cheek with her hand and says only, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay."

No, it's not okay, she thinks, but she says only, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replies.

This is only the beginning. She is _not_ going to call his parents. Not now. Not yet. Not unless she absolutely has no choice.

(To Be Continued...)


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 13)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 12 ended:

_"Dad called me a sissy." He laughs humorlessly. "Told me for the millionth time how much I disappointed him."_

_She's surprised he's shared so much, and she doesn't know how to respond, so she caresses his cheek with her hand and says only, "I'm sorry."_

_"S'okay."_

_No, it's not okay, she thinks, but she says only, "I love you."_

_"I love you, too," he replies._

_This is only the beginning. She is_ not _going to call his parents. Not now. Not yet. Not unless she absolutely has no choice._

**--------------------**

The night before Greg's mom is to arrive, Greg and Stacy are making dinner together. Many nights one or both of them work late, and then someone picks up takeout or they order in; however, when they both get home at a reasonable time, they cook. Stacy is preparing ginger glazed salmon and Greg is making a salad.

"So, tell me about your mom," Stacy says.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, I don't know. Anything. I know very little about her, considering that we've been together for almost a year and a half, and I'm meeting her tomorrow for the first time…"

"She grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Studied music and theater at Ohio State. Dropped out of college at 19 to get married after my dad knocked her up," he tells her unceremoniously as he slices a cucumber.

Stacy puts the salmon in the oven and walks over to him. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?" she asks.

"Never came up. You haven't exactly told me a lot about _your_ family." Now he's intently slicing tomatoes and doesn't look at her.

"That's a topic for another time. How did your parents meet?" Stacy asks as she begins to set the table.

"My mom was friends with my dad's sister, my Aunt Helen. Helen introduced them and they dated when he'd come home on leave. And," he says glibly, looking at her with raised eyebrows, "he just couldn't keep it in his pants."

"It takes two to tango," she says, and immediately regrets it. The look on Greg's face tells her that in his mind his father is 100 responsible – and that he holds his mother above reproach. This is something that, later, Stacy herself will find hard to do.

"You don't know my dad. Not an easy man to argue with. _So_, if it weren't for _me_, she wouldn't have had to spend her life with the likes of _him_. And she could have pursued her talents, finished school," he says matter-of-factly as he adds the sliced vegetables to the salad bowl.

"What do you mean, if it weren't for _you_?" Stacy's voice rises. "You certainly can't blame yourself for what your parents did. That's utterly ridiculous!"

"It's not about blame; it's simply a statement of fact," he says as he tosses the salad.

Stacy finishes setting the table and walks up behind him, putting her arms around his waist. "Well, I, for one, am glad that things turned out the way they did because I can't imagine not having you in my life. And _that_ is a simple statement of fact." He's uncomfortable when she says these things, but, nevertheless, he turns around and kisses her lightly on the lips. The kitchen timer goes off and Stacy removes the salmon from the oven.

As they sit down to dinner, she says, "I hope your mom likes me."

"Don't worry; she'll like you. We have to think of something to do with her Saturday."

"_Do_ with her?" Stacy asks, slightly confused.

"Long day. We need to plan some activity – something to entertain her. Or we'll just end up sitting around and talking."

"Heaven forbid," Stacy says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I thought you bought the three of us tickets to the Princeton Symphony Orchestra for Saturday night."

"Yeah, but what about the afternoon? I was thinking maybe we could take her to the University Art Museum. That could take up a good three hours or so."

"Don't you want to spend some time alone with her? I don't need to --"

"No! It'll be better if there are three of us," he tells her adamantly.

"Okay."

**--------------------**

The next day Greg leaves the clinic early and drives to the airport in Newark to pick up his mom, whose flight arrives at 5:37 pm. They spend most of the drive back to Princeton talking about the weather, renovations Greg's dad is doing at their Cherry Point house, and his mom's volunteer work. Finally, she brings up the inevitable.

"So tell me about Stacy," she asks pointedly. Greg knows she's been eager to ask since he picked her up.

"What do you want to know," he asks, trying to mask the discomfort he feels. He knows she's going to bring up things he'd really rather not discuss.

"Where did the two of you meet?"

"Strip club," he says matter-of-factly. He glances over at her to see her reaction; she looks a bit confused, so he smiles at her and adds, "I met her at Wilson's last wedding." It's not a complete lie; he can't _really_ lie to his mom. And he was at Wilson's bachelor party.

"Greg, you're such a tease! James has always been such a nice boy. I do hope this marriage works for him." She pauses momentarily and then says, trying to sound casual, "Are you and Stacy going to get married?" There it is. He knew she'd get around to this.

"Don't know." He turns on the radio, fiddling with the knobs to find the classical station he likes, hoping this might put an end to the conversation.

"She's lived with you for almost a year and a half, right?"

"Yep." Having located the station he was looking for, he turns up the volume. His mom immediately turns the volume back down.

"Well, are you in love with her, dear?"

"Mo-om!" He sighs and rolls his eyes, slightly turning to the left so she won't see.

"Are you?"

"Would I be living with her if I weren't?" He turns to give her a look and sees that she is hurt. He sighs and then, still annoyed, says, "Yes, Mom! Okay!" More quietly he says, "I love her." To his great relief, they are finally pulling into his driveway.

Stacy greets them at the door and Greg's mom surprises her by pulling her into a tight embrace. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, dear!"

"Likewise, Mrs. House," Stacy says, returning the older woman's hug. "Let me take your coat."

"Oh, thank you! And, please, call me Blythe," she smiles.

"I'll bring your suitcase to our room, Mom. That's where you'll be staying. Stacy and I will sleep on the sofa bed in the living room," Greg says.

"Nonsense! I'm _not_ going to allow you to give up your bedroom. _I_ will sleep on the sofa bed."

"Mom, it's --," Greg begins, but Blythe interrupts.

"No arguments, Gregory," she says firmly as she shakes her head.

Stacy and Greg exchange a look, and Greg shrugs and says, "Okay."

It's 8:30 pm by the time they sit down to dinner. Stacy has made cranberry chicken, which Blythe raves about profusely. She asks Stacy questions about her job (she didn't get the promotion at Merry, Laurie, and Lowe and currently works at a firm that specializes in medical malpractice) and talks about her volunteer work at a shelter for battered women and children. Greg is glad that the attention isn't on him and that his mom and Stacy converse easily.

By 10 pm Blythe is asleep on the sofa bed in the living room. Greg and Stacy aren't accustomed to going to bed so early, but they're in their bedroom so as not to disturb Blythe. Stacy is putting on a tasteful, opaque floor-length nightgown and Greg is sitting on the bed in his pajama bottoms watching her.

"Do you have to wear _that_?" he asks her.

"I want to look nice for your mom," she says cheerfully.

"I want you to look nice for _me_. Besides, it's only 10 o'clock. I'm not tired."

"Then find something to do," she suggests as she puts on some hand lotion.

"I know what we could do," he says with a lecherous grin, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Not with your mom in the other room, Romeo," she retorts as she bends down and gives him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Just because you can't be _quiet_…" he begins playfully.

"Right. Because you can?" she interrupts with a smile. "Read a book. Play a video game. Work in the study."

"Nah. Let's watch tv." He gets under the covers and turns on _The Tonight Show_. Stacy gets in bed, too, and snuggles up against him. They're both asleep before the end of the program.

(To Be Continued…)


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 14)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 13 ended:

_"Just because you can't be_ quiet_…" he begins playfully._

_"Right. Because you can?" she interrupts with a smile. "Read a book. Play a video game. Work in the study."_

_"Nah. Let's watch tv." He gets under the covers and turns on The Tonight Show. Stacy gets in bed, too, and snuggles up against him. They're both asleep before the end of the program._

**--------------------**

The next day, Stacy wakes up at 8am, brushes her teeth, and goes to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. She tries to be quiet so as not to wake Blythe, but within a few moments, the older woman comes into the kitchen.

"Good morning, dear."

"Good morning, Blythe. Did you sleep alright on the sofa bed?"

"Oh, yes. I was so tired that I fell asleep right when my head hit the pillow!"

"I'm glad," Stacy replies as she pours Blythe a cup of coffee. "Cream and sugar?"

"No, thank you. I drink it black," she says, taking the mug Stacy holds out to her.

Then Greg enters the kitchen in his pajamas. "Morning, Mom," he says as he comes up behind Blythe.

"Oh, Greg, good morning!" She turns around and gives him a peck on the cheek. Then she turns back to Stacy and says, "By the way, dear, that is _such_ a lovely nightgown!" Stacy gives Greg a look of satisfaction, but then Blythe adds, "I used to have one that was nearly just like it." This causes Greg to contort his features into an exaggerated look of horror which, luckily, Blythe doesn't see. Stacy has to stifle a laugh.

Stacy and Greg make omelets, hashbrowns, and toast while Blythe sets the table. As they eat breakfast, Blythe asks Greg about his work. He's been fired from two different area hospitals (both before he met Stacy) and there is a hint of concern in Blythe's voice. Greg reassures her that all is well at the Princeton University Hospital Medical Center, where he is on staff as a nephrologist and where, like all the younger doctors, he also does clinic rotations. "My son, a doctor. I'm so proud of you, Greg," Blythe concludes, satisfied.

**--------------------**

That afternoon, as the three of them are in Greg's car on the way to the University Art Museum, Greg's pager goes off and he needs to stop at the hospital to care for a patient. Stacy takes Blythe to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of tea while they wait for Greg.

"You know, actually I'm glad it worked out so that just the two of us can have a little chat," Blythe begins. Stacy is, of course, nervous, and silently chastises herself; she's confident and a good conversationalist, so she shouldn't feel so uneasy, but it's Greg's mom...

"Do you love my son?"

She doesn't beat around the bush, Stacy thinks, but at least it's an easy question. "I do, Blythe. Very much, in fact."

Blythe smiles warmly. "I'm so glad! I only want him to be happy. And I've been so worried that he'd spend his whole life alone. I'm just so happy that he's found you," she says as she reaches a hand across the table and places it on Stacy's.

"I'm happy that I've found him, too," she says honestly.

"Greg is…well…it's never been very easy for him…to…relate to people." It's clear to Stacy that she's choosing her words carefully. "John, my husband, was a Marine. I'm sure Greg's told you."

Stacy nods.

"And we moved around quite a bit while Greg was growing up. We were rarely in one place long enough for Greg to form any lasting friendships. He spent a lot of time alone, and didn't learn to socialize very well." She pauses, takes a sip of tea, and stares down at her hands for a few moments before continuing. "I feel terrible; it's all our fault, really. But John was already committed to a military career before we even married, and I wasn't able to have more children, so no siblings…. There was nothing I could do…"

"I know that, Blythe. And I'm sure Greg does, too," she says comfortingly, though she really doesn't have any idea what he thinks about this.

"Regardless, he managed to get excellent grades in school – all As – even though he was shuffled from place to place. Greg was an incredibly bright little boy. And rather inquisitive. He never accepted anything without a detailed explanation. Sometimes his teachers got annoyed with him for asking too many questions in class; they found it disruptive and some even seemed to think he was a smart-aleck." She sighs and takes another sip of tea. "I'm afraid John thought that, too. John and Greg…well, they're _very_ different people…it's always been…difficult for them."

Stacy is relieved that when Blythe said they needed to chat, she really meant _she_ was going to do most of the talking herself. And she's interested in everything Blythe is telling her, as these are things she wouldn't likely learn from Greg. She wants to ask more about John, but before she can figure out how to phrase a question, Blythe continues.

"But _I_ thought it was wonderful that Greg was so eager to learn and that he really _thought_ about things." She clearly wants Stacy to know this. "I always tried to answer his questions, and when they were way beyond my knowledge, which they frequently were," she laughs lightly, "I checked out books from the local library in search of answers. Greg has always been an avid reader," she adds. "He was reading Sherlock Holmes mysteries and nonfiction science books by the time he turned ten!"

"That bright little boy has grown up into a brilliant man," Stacy tells her with a smile.

"And, as I'm sure you know, Greg's also a very talented pianist," Blythe continues.

"Yes, he is. I could listen to him play for hours," Stacy says, thinking Blythe is quite the proud parent.

"My father gave me a piano when I turned sweet sixteen and I kept it even after I got married. During the day when John was away, I taught Greg how to play – he wanted to learn as soon as he was able to pull himself up on the bench! When he started school, I arranged for him to have piano lessons whenever possible. Playing the piano always seemed to bring him such joy," Blythe says with a faraway look in her eyes.

Stacy's still trying to figure out how she can ask about John when Greg joins them in the cafeteria, squelching the opportunity.

"How's your patient?" Stacy asks.

"He's stable now. So what have you two been up to?"

"Oh, just chatting, dear" Blythe replies.

They spend the rest of the afternoon looking at the exhibits at the University Art Museum. Blythe enjoys art and pays careful attention to each piece, reading the informative placards aloud to Stacy and Greg. Afterward they have dinner at a steakhouse and go to the Princeton Symphony Orchestra.

**--------------------**

That night, after Blythe is asleep and Greg and Stacy are in bed, Greg asks her what she and his mom talked about that afternoon.

"Your mom told me what a brilliant little boy you were," Stacy says lightheartedly as she moves closer to him, resting a hand on his chest.

"Specifically, what did she say?" he asks. She notices his voice is a bit strained.

"Just that you were smart, inquisitive, and musical. And that you moved around a lot while you were growing up."

Greg doesn't respond, so Stacy assumes he is satisfied with her answer.

**--------------------**

The next morning is pleasant and uneventful. After Greg leaves to drive Blythe to the airport in Newark, Stacy thinks how well the visit went. She likes Blythe. It isn't until later that she learns that everything's different when she is with her husband.

(To Be Continued…)


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 15)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 14 ended:

_The next morning is pleasant and uneventful. After Greg leaves to drive Blythe to the airport in Newark, Stacy thinks how well the visit went. She likes Blythe. It isn't until later that she learns that everything's different when she is with her husband._

**--------------------**

A little over a year later, Stacy finally meets Greg's dad, John. Greg's cousin Celeste (his Aunt Helen's daughter) is getting married at the New Jersey beach resort town of Cape May and Stacy and Greg attend the wedding. Greg isn't close to Celeste – in fact, she is fifteen years his junior – but he loves Helen and doesn't want to disappoint her. Stacy has gathered from bits and pieces of information from Greg that he got on well with Helen while growing up. Helen is so completely different from John that it is hard to believe they are sister and brother.

As it gets closer to the weekend of the wedding, Stacy notices that Greg is becoming withdrawn. She doesn't ask many questions – he won't answer anyway – but she thinks that if this is so upsetting they shouldn't go. She mentions this to him one night after dinner when she finds him sitting in the study silently staring out the window.

She walks over to him and sits on his lap. "Why don't we just forget about going to this wedding? We could do something else – maybe spend the weekend in New York. Remember how much fun we had last time?"

"That _was_ a great trip!" He smirks, remembering how he talked her into a quickie in the glass elevator at their hotel. "Maybe we can find a similar elevator at Cape May?"

"Not likely. Anyway, _I_ was thinking about the dinner, the play, and the carriage ride in Central Park." She bends her head down and kisses him. He responds, but she can tell his heart's not in it. "I'm serious, Greg," she continues. "Why go if it makes you this miserable?"

"It would disappoint Aunt Helen. Anyway, it's only for a couple of days. I just don't really want to spend time with my dad," he says averting his eyes.

"Tell me more about him. You might feel better if you talk about it."

"Doubt it. He's just an asshole. And a control freak. And he treats my mom like crap."

"And you?"

"It doesn't matter. Nothing I could ever do would please him. He's never forgiven me for refusing a career in the military. I really don't want to talk about it." He looks at her with pleading eyes. "I just need to be alone for a little while, okay?" He knows it hurts her when he says this, but he can't help it. It's the only way he knows how to deal with things. She nods, gives him a quick kiss on the forehead, and leaves.

**--------------------**

The drive from Princeton to Cape May is about two and a half hours. When they set out the Friday morning of the wedding weekend, Greg is, surprisingly, in a good mood. The time goes by quickly as they listen to the radio and talk about work, traffic, and other trivial things. They stop at a Wawa convenience store for a bathroom break and some coffee when they're about a half hour from their destination, and when they get back in the car, Greg says, "It's going to be a military wedding, you know. Celeste's marrying a Marine, to my dad's utter delight, I'm sure, and most of my relatives are military."

"I've never been to a military wedding," she replies. "It should be interesting."

"Oh, I guarantee it will be _interesting_! It's more about the military than the couple. You should know that, for these people, the military, God, and country come before _all else_," he says somewhat bitterly.

**--------------------**

They are staying at a bed-and-breakfast down the street from the hotel where the other wedding guests are staying. Greg made the reservation, telling her he didn't want to see family more than necessary. It's about noon by the time they check in and are shown to their room.

"This is really lovely!" Stacy exclaims as she looks around their room. It's a tastefully decorated Victorian suite with a king-size bed and attached full bath. "Nineteenth-century charm and modern amenities," she says as she peeks in the bathroom and sees a hot tub. "I can't believe you booked us this place!"

"What's that supposed to mean? I should be hurt!" he says, clutching his chest and making a mock hurt face. "You do know that this weekend it will be almost exactly three years since we moved in together, don't you?"

She smiles as she walks over to him and wraps her arms around his waist. "_I_ know, but I didn't think _you_ did. Be careful; I might begin to think you're a romantic at heart," she teases. "If I decide to tell anyone, I could ruin your reputation and --"

He stops her from talking by pressing his mouth down on hers. After a long and deep kiss, he says, "You do know how much I love you, right?" She nods. "But I don't think I can get married," he continues.

"Who asked you?" she jokes. She knows he views his parents' marriage as a trap, and she's always suspected that he likely doesn't want to get married.

"I'm serious, Stacy. I love you and I don't ever want to be with anyone else," he tells her softly, looking down into her eyes. "But I don't want to mislead you. If this isn't going to be enough…"

She puts her fingers up to his lips to shush him. "I love you and I want to be with you. It's enough. I don't need a party and a piece of paper." All she ever asks for is honesty.

He kisses her fingers, still on his lips. God, he does love her, he thinks. And he wants to show her. Now. He takes her other hand in his and leads her over to the bed. Sometimes when they make love it's passionate, sometimes sweet, sometimes playful or rough or needy; this time, there really isn't a word to describe it. It feels as though, for a few precious moments, their souls become one. Stacy has never felt this close to him before, and she is almost moved to tears.

**--------------------**

About an hour later they are wrapped in each other's arms on the large Victorian four-poster bed. "You hungry?" Greg asks.

"Mmm-hmm. We should take a walk around the neighborhood and find a place for lunch," Stacy replies unenthusiastically.

"We should," Greg replies, but neither one of them makes a move to get out of bed.

"We're being awfully lazy," Stacy smiles as she traces her finger down Greg's chest.

Suddenly he jumps up, saying, "How about if I race you to the shower?" He's already out of bed and darting toward the bathroom when he finishes the question.

"No fair! You got a head start!" Stacy protests as she rushes to catch up with him. "Hey, let's use the hot tub instead!"

"It's 85 degrees outside!"

"Yeah, but it's _cool_ in _here_ on account of the air conditioning," she says as she begins filling the tub.

It's yet another hour until they are dressed and ready to leave the room.

**--------------------**

"It's already 2:00! We only have a few hours until the rehearsal dinner," Stacy says, as they set out down the sidewalk in the direction of the shopping and restaurant area.

"Luckily we don't have to go to the 'rehearsal' part! They have to practice making the whole arch of swords and everything."

"What's that?"

"You'll see tomorrow. After the exchange of vows, the bride and groom have to walk under an arch of swords -- or rifles, depending on whether or not the groom is currently commissioned -- created by uniformed ushers or groomsmen. Heaven forbid, the union not be blessed by the military!" he exclaims sarcastically. "Oh, and then there's the usual pat on the ass the bride gets from at least one of them, meant to 'welcome' her to the Marines."

"Sounds demeaning, if you ask me."

"No argument here."

"So what do you feel like eating? This little Mexican place looks fun," Stacy suggests as they approach a bright turquoise building with a yellow sign emblazoned with the words "Gecko's Original Southwestern Cuisine."

Greg stops to read the menu posted on a board in front. "Sounds good. And it looks like we can eat outside," he says, observing people eating in an adjacent area enclosed by a red and white wooden fence.

They order crab enchiladas and grilled salmon with mango salsa to share, and Greg is slightly disappointed that the eatery does not serve alcohol.

"I'm sure there will be plenty to drink tonight," Stacy chides him gently.

"Yeah, but I was hoping to get a little numb beforehand," he says seriously.

Normally he has a glass of scotch or two at night, but when he's really stressed or upset about something, Stacy thinks he has a bit too much. (And she already knows this wedding qualifies as a stressful and upsetting event.) He thinks it helps him cope, but she thinks it just makes him more sullen.

Just after their food arrives, a loud screeching female voice comes up behind them. "Gregory House? Is that you? Well as I live and breathe!"

Greg gives Stacy a look that means the equivalent of 'oh, crap' and half stands to greet the owner of the voice. She is a stout woman in her early 50s, her red-orange hair sloppily pulled back into a ponytail.

"Judy, hello," Greg says and forces a smile as she kisses his cheek.

"Greg, nice to see you! I just saw your mom at the hotel. She said you're at Princeton-Plainsboro now and that I should give you my resume so that you can pass it along if there are any openings. I'll bring it to the dinner tonight!"

"I don't think there will be any openings, Judy, so that's really not --"

"Well, you know. Just in case, I'll give it to you!" she interrupts excitedly.

Seemingly noticing Stacy for the first time, she asks, "And who is this?"

"This is Stacy. Stacy, this is my dad's cousin, Judy."

"Nice to meet you." Stacy holds out her hand to the woman.

"Oh, the pleasure is mine! Are you in the medical field, too?" she asks, still holding onto Stacy's hand.

"I'm an attorney, but I work as legal counsel for Princeton-Plainsboro."

"How wonderful! Is that where the two of you met?"

Before Stacy can respond, Greg smirks and says, "Nope. Met at a strip club!"

Stacy adds, shaking her head solemnly, "It was the worst two dollars I've ever spent." This causes Judy to look back and forth from one of them to the other with a rather strange expression on her face and renders her momentarily speechless.

"Well...then...I, uh...I should get going..."

When she's barely out of earshot, Greg laughs and exclaims, "She's the _last_ thing that PPTH needs!"

"She seems...nice. What does she do?"

"Nice? She's a psychiatric nurse. But she was fired from her last job for coming to work high and stealing enema bags and large quantities of hospital cafeteria silverware," Greg says with a completely straight face.

"You're kidding me!"

"Well, to be fair, it was never proven that she was the one taking the enema bags. But she _was_ nailed for being high and stealing silverware. Wait until you meet her sister, Denise. She's never been the same since she learned that her common-law husband and father of her child had been leading a double life for almost ten years."

"I'll never doubt you again when you tell me your family is...unusual," she says.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," he says with a bitter laugh.

(To Be Continued…)


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 16)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Chapter 15 ended:

_"Well, to be fair, it was never proven that she was the one taking the enema bags. But she was nailed for being high and stealing silverware. Wait until you meet her sister, Denise. She's never been the same since she learned that her common-law husband and father of her child had been leading a double life for almost ten years."_

_"I'll never doubt you again when you tell me your family is…unusual," she says._

_"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," he says with a bitter laugh._

**--------------------**

After lunch, Stacy and Greg take a walk around the neighborhood, popping in and out of the little touristy gift shops specializing in everything from souvenirs to antiques to clothing. Stacy is enjoying just spending time relaxing with Greg. They've both been working unusually long hours the past few weeks and haven't been able to spend much time together (which is probably why the first thing they did when they arrived was fall into bed, she thinks). She has the urge to hold his hand as they walk, but she knows he isn't big on public displays of affection.

They stop in a confectionery shop and Greg buys a large bag of taffy. A little while later, Stacy stops in front of a little store that sells upscale women's clothing, hand-painted scarves, and jewelry. Greg rolls his eyes, muttering "chick store" under his breath.

"Why don't you sit here and eat your taffy? You can silently diagnose people as they walk by," Stacy suggests in only a slightly teasing tone, gesturing to a bench on the sidewalk. "I won't take very long."

She quickly looks around the small shop and is about to leave when something in a glass jewelry counter catches her attention. She doesn't wear very much jewelry – just enough to look professional and well-groomed – and she's never been particularly excited by gemstones; nevertheless, as she nears the counter, she is drawn to a pair of sparkling blue earrings.

The saleslady, a stout, gray-haired woman in her 50s, comes over and asks her if she'd like to see anything in the case. "Those blue ones on the second shelf," Stacy says, tapping on the glass.

"These are quite lovely," the saleslady says as she places the box of earrings on the counter. "Each earring is comprised of a pear-cut London blue topaz stone set in a 14K white gold one inch dangle surrounded with tiny pave-set diamonds." She sounds like a television commercial, but Stacy is only half-listening; she is mesmerized by the stones themselves which, she thinks, are exactly the color of Greg's eyes.

"They _are_ beautiful," Stacy says quietly.

"Would you like to try them on? They would stand out brilliantly against your dark hair."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary," Stacy says, noticing the exorbitant price tag, but the saleslady is already taking them out of their box.

"Well, just for fun, I guess it couldn't hurt," she says as she removes her simple small silver hoops and puts on the blue topaz drops.

The saleslady hands her a mirror and tells her, as any good saleslady would, how beautiful they look on her.

"She's right. They look great on you." Stacy turns abruptly at hearing Greg's voice; she didn't notice him come in.

"Greg, I'm just finishing here…" she begins as she removes the earrings and places them back in their box.

"We'll take them," he says definitively to the saleslady.

"Greg! They're almost $400! That's ridiculous! I don't need them."

"But you do _like_ them, right?" he asks, surprisingly undaunted by the price.

"Well, sure, but –"

"Then don't argue; it _is_ our third anniversary, you know."

She's speechless as Greg produces a credit card and completes the purchase. He's rarely given her gifts since the flowers and candy the first week of their relationship. She doesn't mind; he just doesn't think of those things and he's not sentimental like that. For birthdays and holidays, they generally go somewhere nice for dinner or to New York for a couple of days, but no lavish gifts.

When they're outside on the sidewalk again, Stacy takes his hand and stands to face him. "You didn't have to –" she begins.

"I wanted to. You like them. They look good on you." He shrugs as he takes his hand back and begins to unwrap a piece of taffy. "Just thank me," he tells her.

"Thank you," she says, and, before he can put the taffy in his mouth, she leans up and kisses him deeply.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and looks around uncomfortably. "Hey, people are starting to stare. You can thank me more later," he smirks, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She briefly entertains the notion of telling him that she loves the earrings because they are the color of his eyes, but she knows that he would mock her mercilessly so she decides to keep this to herself.

**--------------------**

When they return to the bed-and-breakfast, Greg inquires about the nearest liquor store. The proprietor tells them there aren't any in walking distance, but gives them driving directions to one a couple of miles away. Greg selects an expensive Glenfiddich 30 year old single malt. Stacy raises an eyebrow and he shrugs, saying only, "Trust me. The occasion requires it."

Back at their room there is a message from Blythe waiting for them. At her insistence, Greg told her where they were staying when they spoke on the phone a few days ago. She wants to know if she and John can come over to visit before the dinner. "Well, why don't you tell her they can come by at 6:15?" Stacy suggests, looking at her watch. "That'll give us almost an hour to shower and get dressed."

Greg calls the number Blythe left and John answers the phone. Stacy hears Greg's end of the conversation. "Hi, dad... I know. I just got the message... Is she there?... Well, tell her you can come over at 6:15." This is followed by a long pause, and then, clearly irritated, Greg says, "Because we need to get ready for the dinner." Again a pause. "Dad... no... we... Dad. 6:15. Bye." Greg hangs up the phone and sighs as he pours himself a glass of scotch.

"Maybe I better have one of those, too," Stacy says, walking over to him with another glass.

**--------------------**

Promptly at 6:15 there is a knock on the door. Greg and Stacy look at each other and then Greg opens the door. Blythe sails in first, John behind her. She pulls Greg's head down to kiss him on the cheek and then envelops Stacy in a big hug. "It's so wonderful to see you both again!" she beams.

John is much more reserved. He shakes Greg's hand, saying only, "Son," with a nod. "And you must be Stacy," he says, putting his hand out for her to shake.

"Yes. I'm pleased to finally meet you, sir," Stacy replies, shaking his hand.

"Same here. I think it's terrific that you can put up with Greg and all his shenanigans," he tells her, smiling.

"Well, I... I'm not sure I know what you mean, but I..."

"Oh, John's just teasing!" Blythe cuts in, laughing nervously.

"Why don't the two of you sit down," Stacy suggests, gesturing to the two overstuffed Victorian armchairs in the room. Stacy and Greg sit facing them at the foot of the bed.

John thoroughly takes in his surroundings and says, "So. The regular hotel where everyone else is staying – not good enough for you?"

"No, dad. It's just that --"

"Greg knows how much I like bed-and-breakfasts," Stacy quickly interjects. Greg gives her a look she can't read.

"I see you've already been hitting the drink today, too," John says as he spots the Glenfiddich and two empty glasses.

"Um, we just each had one glass. Would you like one, Mr. House?" Stacy offers.

"No. I don't love the scotch like my son here. And that's _Colonel_ House." "But you can call him John, dear," Blythe adds quietly, shooting John a look.

Stacy excuses herself to go to the bathroom and then, opening the door just a crack, calls, "Greg, could you come here and help me with something, please?"

When Greg comes to the door Stacy pulls him in and shuts it tightly. "Is your dad always this charming?" she asks sarcastically.

"This is him on his _best_ behavior. You should be flattered."

"But he's so critical, it's like he -- "

"Don't worry about it and don't take it personally. And Stacy?"

"Yes?"

"Don't defend me. You didn't need to jump in about why we're staying here." He immediately regrets saying this when he sees the hurt look on her face.

"I was only trying to help," she says.

He pulls her close and says softly in her ear, "I know, I know. But I can handle him."

When they emerge from the bathroom, Stacy says, by way of explanation, "The clasp on my necklace was stuck. But Greg...fixed it." She doesn't know or care whether they believe her.

John stands up and asserts, "We better start heading to the dinner. Don't want to arrive late and it's about 6 blocks away!"

As the four of them walk together, John expounds on a piece of property he recently purchased in upper Michigan, on the shore of Lake Superior. "We're going to build a cabin there. You both will have to come to visit us next summer."

"I can hardly wait," Greg says under his breath so that only Stacy hears.

(To Be Continued...)


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 17)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 16 ended:

_John stands up and asserts, "We better start heading to the dinner. Don't want to arrive late and it's about 6 blocks away!"_

_As the four of them walk together, John expounds on a piece of property he recently purchased in upper Michigan, on the shore of Lake Superior. "We're going to build a cabin there. You both will have to come to visit us next summer."_

_"I can hardly wait," Greg says under his breath so that only Stacy hears._

**--------------------**

The dinner is held on the top floor of an oceanside hotel that has a wall of windows overlooking the beach. Upon arriving, John immediately excuses himself to use the restroom, and Blythe goes to find their place cards with the table assignments.

"Greg!" An older woman in her mid-sixties shouts as she runs up and throws her arms around him.

"Hi, Aunt Helen," Greg replies, smiling at her genuinely. "You look terrific, as usual." She pulls his head down to give him a peck on the cheek, and then wipes away the lipstick she left there.

"Aw, you're still a charmer, Greg! After all these years, I still think of you as a little boy – I'm always startled for a moment when I realize that you're this tall, handsome man now!" Helen gushes. "Oh! And you must be Stacy!" she says, turning to look her up and down. "Blythe was right; you're absolutely lovely! I'm Greg's Aunt Helen, John's sister," she says as she hugs Stacy.

Stacy feels a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable, but she hides it well and hugs her back. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Greg has told me how special you are."

"Greg is the one who is truly special," Helen says quietly in her ear.

Just then, a pretty girl with auburn hair and bright blue eyes similar to Greg's bounds over to them. "Greg, nice to see you!" she says, throwing herself into his arms. "It's been, what? About ten years?"

"Hi, Celeste. Congratulations," Greg says, awkwardly returning her hug. He introduces her to Stacy and, almost immediately, a uniformed Marine comes over and puts his arm around Celeste, who introduces him as her fiancé, Bill.

"Felt the need to come in full dress tonight, too, I see," Greg says as he shakes Bill's hand. Before Bill can respond, Helen spots a group of new arrivals and says excitedly, "Oh, Celeste, come! Let's introduce Bill to the Fittermans!"

"That was polite of you," Stacy says to Greg now that they're alone.

"Oh, he can take it, Stace. He's one of the few! The proud! The Marines, for chrissakes!"

Just then Blythe returns with the place cards. "Unfortunately you and Stacy are seated at a different table than we are," she says, handing Greg the "Dr. Gregory House and Miss Stacy Barrett" card. "You're at table six, we're at three."

"Oh, that's too bad," Greg says sarcastically.

Blythe pats his arm and says, "Greg, dear, your father means well; try not to forget it. I better go and find him."

After Blythe leaves, Greg turns to Stacy and says, "I need a drink. What do you want?"

"Gin and tonic, I guess," she says as they approach the open bar.

"Two scotches, neat, and a gin and tonic," he tells the bartender. He downs one scotch quickly right at the counter, and hands Stacy her drink.

"Don't worry. It'll be over in a couple of hours," she says gently.

Someone makes an announcement asking everyone to find their seats. As Greg and Stacy approach their table, Greg mutters, "terrific," under his breath. Judy is already seated there, a man on one side of her and a woman on the other.

"Oh, good! You're sitting with us!" Judy exclaims as Greg pulls out a chair for Stacy. (It's one of the things he does on occasion that she finds particularly charming, if only because it seems completely out of character.) "You remember my husband, Charlie, right? And my sister, Denise?" Greg greets them and introduces them to Stacy.

Judy, lacking manners and subtlety, leans over and whispers something to her sister and then they both look over at Stacy, who's certain she heard the words "strip club". Stacy gives Greg a slightly annoyed sideways glance, but he only grins and puts his hand on her leg under the table.

"So, Greg," Charlie begins, "how's work?"

"Same old. You know. Trying to cure sick people. Tough job, but someone's gotta' do it."

"Your dad tells me that you've had some difficulty keeping a job – a lot of lawsuits." Stacy is drinking at the moment and she almost sprays water out of her mouth; desperately trying to hold it in, she chokes and begins to cough. Greg gently pats Stacy on the back for a moment, never taking his eyes off of Charlie.

"I've been at Princeton-Plainsboro for over a year now and everything is fine. Stacy, here, is hospital legal counsel. She's a dmn good attorney and I have complete faith that she has my ss covered."

"Well, then," Judy interrupts, producing a large manila envelope from under the table. "Here is my resume, Greg." Then she turns to Charlie and says excitedly, "Greg thinks maybe there will be an opening --"

"Uh, no. Actually, Judy, I said I _don't_ think –," Greg begins, but Judy cuts him off, going on about how much she would like to work at Princeton-Plainsboro, and how she and Charlie, currently living in Philadelphia, could easily relocate since Charlie is a traveling salesman. Charlie, it turns out, works for a company that sells advertising for those "where to eat and where to shop" city guides one finds in hotel rooms across the country. By the time dessert is served, Stacy and Greg know more than they ever wanted to know about the subject.

Denise has been quiet throughout the whole dinner and Stacy feels like she ought to talk to her – and she's tired of listening to Charlie prattle on. "So, Denise, what do _you_ do?" she asks.

"I'm a dental hygienist," she replies quietly, "but I'm on an extended leave."

Before Stacy can reply, Charlie jumps into the conversation. "The man she lived with for ten years was married to someone else the whole time. I suspected as much, so I hired a private detective to uncover it. Denise didn't know until three years ago. After he left she went a little, you know...off the deep end" he says pointing his forefinger at his head and moving it in circles making the universal gesture for "cuckoo".

Stacy is surprised that he's saying this right in front of Denise, but when she looks over at her, Denise is nodding solemnly. "I've been heavily medicated ever since."

"Oh, I'm…sorry," is all Stacy manages to say, noticing for the first time that Denise does look a bit dazed and glassy-eyed.

As a waiter comes around offering coffee refills, Greg stands and says, "Well, we're going to go. See you all tomorrow." Stacy gets up as well and says goodnight.

"We better say goodbye to your parents before we leave," she says. Greg nods curtly and they make their way over to table three.

They come up behind John and Blythe just as a man seated across from them bellows, " – and my boy bagged two deer and it was only his first time out! He grew up to be an excellent marksman! I've heard legends about you though, John. Betcha' passed your secrets onto Greg!"

"No, can't say that I have," John replies gruffly. "First and only time I took him hunting he was afraid to touch the rifle and cried like a baby when a deer was brought down. I did my best to toughen him up, but he always was more of a momma's boy, that one."

Greg, standing directly behind Blythe and John, puts his hand on his mother's shoulder and says impassively, "We just came over to say goodnight." Both John and Blythe turn around, startled, and bid them both goodnight.

As Stacy and Greg turn to leave, Blythe grabs Stacy's hand, a pained expression on her face, and asks, "How much did he hear?"

"Pretty much everything," Stacy snaps at the older woman, pulling her hand away and turning to catch up with Greg.

She doesn't say anything to him in the elevator or the hotel lobby because both are crowded, but when they get onto the street, she says, "Greg, I'm so sorry --"

He cuts her off. "Nothing to be sorry about."

She slips her arm in his and continues. "You can't believe that you're --"

"Don't wanna' talk."

"But, your father is --"

"_Still_ don't wanna' talk," he says more loudly.

"Okay."

They walk in silence, and when they get back to their room at the bed-and-breakfast, Greg pours himself another scotch, and then another. By the time Stacy is ready for bed, he's polished off the bottle and is sitting in one of the Victorian armchairs looking out the window. She doesn't know what to do. She wants to be there for him, help him, comfort him – do something to lessen the hurt somehow. But she doesn't know what to do. And she knows from experience that he won't let her try.

"Honey, why don't you come to bed," she tries gently. "We don't have to talk; we can watch TV. Or just go to sleep. Whatever you want."

He turns to look at her and she sees the pain in his eyes. He can build walls, put up a facade, but the truth is always in his eyes. "I just want to sit here for a while," he says softly. "But you do whatever you want."

She gets into bed and tries to read the novel she brought, but, after realizing for the third time that she has no idea what she's read in the last five pages, she gives up and turns off the lamp. "I love you, Greg," she says into the darkness.

"Love you, too," he replies quietly.

(To Be Continued...)


	18. Chapter 18

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 18)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

As usual, comments, feedback, suggestions, etc., are appreciated:)

Where Ch. 17 ended:

_"Honey, why don't you come to bed," she tries gently. "We don't have to talk; we can watch TV. Or just go to sleep. Whatever you want."_

_He turns to look at her and she sees the pain in his eyes. He can build walls, put up a facade, but the truth is always in his eyes. "I just want to sit here for a while," he says softly. "But you do whatever you want."_

_She gets into bed and tries to read the novel she brought, but, after realizing for the third time that she has no idea what she's read in the last five pages, she gives up and turns off the lamp. "I love you, Greg," she says into the darkness._

_"Love you, too," he replies quietly._

**--------------------**

Stacy wakes up at 9am. She almost never sleeps this late, but the previous evening was exhausting – meeting so many people, dealing with John House, worrying about Greg. She is alone in the bed, but there is a brief note scrawled on a prescription sheet on Greg's pillow: _Went running. Be back soon. G_

She's just getting out of the shower when there's a knock at the door. She quickly slips on her robe and opens the door to find Blythe standing on the other side. "Good morning. Can I come in?" she asks. Stacy opens the door wider and gestures for the older woman to enter and have a seat.

"Where's Greg?" Blythe asks, looking around.

"He went running." Stacy's not feeling particularly friendly toward her.

"That's probably better. John was…well…insensitive...last night, and I just wanted to see...if everything's okay."

"Why does John say those things about Greg?"

"John is just…well, he doesn't mean to be so harsh…it's the way _he_ was raised..."

"That's really not an excuse. Greg is an amazing person and a brilliant doctor. I would think most parents would be beaming with pride!"

"I am! I couldn't be prouder of Greg! And John's...well, he just wanted something different for Greg, from Greg. He always thought that his son would carry on the military tradition, follow in his footsteps. You know, John's father and grandfather were both Marines, his uncle was Army --"

"So John will never stop punishing Greg for not doing what _he_ wanted? What about what _Greg_ wanted? What kind of parent forces their own desires on a child? And belittles them for having their own aspirations?"

"It's not just that," the older woman says with a sigh. "John and Greg are just so..._different_. Stacy, please try to understand," she pleads, clasping her hands together in front of her chest as if in prayer. "They don't see things the same way. John follows orders, Greg questions. John believes in God and country, Greg doesn't go to church or vote. John believes that there's one right way to live and --"

"These are poor excuses!" Stacy interrupts. "Why do you just stand by and _let_ him say such things? How come you don't challenge him? Doesn't it hurt you? You're Greg's _mother_, for God's sake! How do think it was for Greg growing up, hearing how he was a failure all the time?" Stacy coldly shoots questions at Blythe as if she's cross-examining a witness in court, unable to hide her exasperation, but when she sees that tears are forming in Blythe's eyes, she stops and hands her a tissue.

Blythe sighs again. "Deep down, John is a good man. He loves Greg and Greg knows that. I tried to make sure he always knew that...," she says, wiping her eyes.

Just then, there's the sound of a key in the lock, and Greg comes in. "Hi!" he says cheerfully to Stacy. Noticing Blythe, he goes over to her and kisses her cheek. "Morning, Mom."

"Greg, dear, how are you?"

"Fine. What about you?" He notices her eyes are pink and watery. "Were you crying?"

"No, I...just...last night...your dad..."

"Don't worry. Forgotten," Greg tells her, waving his hand in dismissal.

"Will you and Stacy have brunch with us? Please?"

He looks over at Stacy, who shrugs.

"Okay. When and where?"

"11:30 at the Hotel Alcott. I should go; John will be wondering where I've gotten off to..."

Stacy nods but doesn't say anything. Blythe lets herself out.

"Why was my mom here?"

"She just showed up. She --"

"What did you say to make her cry?" he asks Stacy, sounding slightly accusatory.

" I...asked her about your dad. Why she doesn't say anything when he criticizes --"

"Don't, Stacy. Don't upset her. It's not her fault," he says matter-of-factly.

"Sorry," she replies, thinking it's now clear that any criticism of his mom is completely off limits.

"S'okay." Greg leans down to kiss her.

"You're sweaty."

"Shower with me," he says, smirking.

"Too late; I'm already clean! _You_, on the other hand, better hurry!"

**--------------------**

They have a relatively uneventful brunch. Blythe is unusually chatty, going on and on about the weather, Cape May, and what she's wearing to the wedding. John talks about his military relatives who will be at the wedding tonight – one who is wheelchair-bound after having lost both legs in Vietnam, and another who lost his right eye in the Gulf War. "These men, they've made the greatest sacrifices of all for their country."

"What about all the troops who returned with Gulf War Syndrome?" Greg asks. "We've seen several at PPTH. Too bad the military won't acknowledge their existence."

"Greg, that's ridiculous! There's no such thing as 'Gulf War Syndrome'! A few bad eggs tryin' to squeeze money out of Uncle Sam. Completely dishonors everyone else! Doesn't make sense, Greg. The government wouldn't lie about it if it were true."

"Sure they would. Not sexy enough -- gotta' lose a limb or an eye – something visible – to be considered a war hero and make it all worthwhile."

Just then the server brings their orders, and Blythe turns the conversation to how delicious the food is, and then to the birding tour she and John are going on that afternoon, asking if Stacy and Greg want to join them.

"Nope. We're going sailing," Greg says.

"We _are_?" This is the first Stacy has heard of this.

"Yep. Made a reservation for 1:30 at the marina this morning."

Stacy thinks maybe he made it up to avoid spending the afternoon with his parents, but she learns quickly that it's true. Greg has a wide range of athletic abilities – in addition to running and playing golf, he also plays lacrosse and tennis – so it doesn't surprise her to learn that he also knows how to sail...

**--------------------**

They arrive at the marina precisely at 1:30. Greg is wearing blue swimming trunks and a white t-shirt and Stacy is wearing denim shorts and an open white blouse over a one-piece red bathing suit. Stacy watches in amazement as Greg skillfully gets their rented boat out on the water. She had no idea that sailing required so much physical strength. "I can't believe you never told me you know how to sail! You're full of surprises!"

"Learned in high school. My dad, of course, wanted me to play football or be on the wrestling team, but I opted for sailing and piano," he shrugs. "Then I was in the sailing club at Michigan."

"What drew you to sailing?"

"Hot babes in bikinis, of course! I'm surprised you had to ask. I thought you knew me better than that," he quips with a grin. "Which reminds me…what's with the one-piece?" he asks gesturing toward her bathing suit.

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm being serious. Why sailing?"

"You're no fun!" he tells her. Then, more quietly, he says, "Escape."

"From?" She looks at him questioningly, waiting for him to continue, but she already knows the answer.

"Land, the base, my dad," he says with a sigh.

"And later? When you were in college?"

"The challenge."

"Of course. You never turn down a challenge," she says.

"You have to control the hull and the shape and angle of the sails to coincide with the direction and strength of the wind. You have to observe conditions constantly – the current, the size of the waves, the ripple patterns, everything… or you'll either capsize or get swept away."

"Teach me," she says, so he shows her some sailing basics. It's a beautiful day with just the right amount of wind for a good sail; they enjoy being out on the water for a couple of hours before heading back to get ready for the wedding.

**--------------------**

It's a formal wedding, so Greg, to his extreme displeasure, has to wear a tux. He's complaining about it as he puts on his cuff links. "It's only for a few hours; I think you'll live," Stacy tells him. He grunts in response. "Besides, I happen to think you look quite dashing." She's walking around the room in her bra and underpants, removing electric rollers from her hair and putting on makeup and jewelry.

Finally, she pulls on a form-fitting long black off-the-shoulder dress and, standing in front of the mirror, asks, "Could you zip me, honey?"

He comes up behind her, pulls up her zipper, and slides his arms around her waist, looking at their reflection in the mirror. She's wearing the white gold and blue topaz earrings he bought her the day before, and they sparkle against her dark hair softly falling to her shoulders in loose curls. "You're beautiful," he mutters in her ear; then, pushing back her hair, he places a soft kiss on her shoulder. "And thank you," he adds quietly.

"For what?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Coming. Putting up with me. My dad..." he says, averting his eyes.

She turns around in his arms and kisses him lightly on the lips. "Try to ignore him tonight. I know it's easier said than done. But you know he's full of crap." He nods curtly. She picks up her evening bag from one of the chairs and they set out for the wedding, which is taking place in yet another hotel.

**--------------------**

The ceremony is long and religious. Almost half of the men in attendance are wearing a military uniform of some sort. Stacy's surprised that, during the vows, Greg reaches over and puts his hand over hers. He's usually not particularly demonstrative, especially in public, and she knows how he feels about marriage. After the ceremony, when the bride and groom walk under the Arch of Swords (and the last two men do, indeed, tap the bride on her behind), Greg looks at her and rolls his eyes.

At the reception they are seated with John and Blythe and some distant cousins of Greg's, two of whom are Marines. The conversation revolves around what they view as President Clinton's lack of support for the armed forces. Greg disagrees with them, and further argues that the need for medical insurance and healthcare reforms are more crucial concerns. Blythe compliments Stacy on her earrings, and Stacy chooses not to tell her they're from Greg. She's not sure why; maybe because she thinks Blythe and John already affect her relationship with Greg enough and they don't need to know anything else about it. It's none of their business, anyway.

Finally the dinner plates are cleared and the band begins to play. The first dance is for the bride and groom. When the second song begins, Greg is telling John heatedly that the country shouldn't give a damn about who did or did not suck Clinton's dick. Stacy leans over to Greg, exclaiming, "I love this song! Come dance with me!" She's already standing up and pulling on his hand so he can't refuse. It's "Songbird" by Eva Cassidy.

_To you, I'll give the world; to you, I'll never be cold; 'cause I feel that when I'm with you, it's alright, I know its right. And the songbirds are singing like they know the score, and I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before._

Shortly after they begin dancing, Charlie dances over with his wife, Greg's crazy cousin Judy, and taps Greg on the shoulder. "May I cut in?" he asks.

"Nope. Sorry," Greg snaps and quickly maneuvers himself and Stacy to the other side of the dance floor.

"That wasn't very nice," Stacy said in a teasing tone, extremely glad that Greg didn't turn her over to Charlie.

"I don't want his paws all over you. I saw the way he was looking at you before."

"He was not!"

"Was, too! And I _certainly_ don't want to dance with Judy."

"Ah, the real reason comes out!" she laughs.

"The real reason is that I only want to dance with you," he says quietly, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. He is momentarily intoxicated by her perfume – he always is – a warm and heady mix of jasmine, sandalwood and vanilla. After three years together, he's more in love with her than ever, he thinks. In fact, he's dumbstruck by his amazing luck. What does this intelligent, beautiful, strong, funny, sexy woman possibly see in him? And he knows he's not the only one who finds this puzzling; he's heard his share from the gossip mill at PPTH. Why would Stacy Barrett be interested in someone so sarcastic, rude, arrogant, abrasive…but, of course, they have no idea that she brings out another side of him entirely. The song ends and he begins to pull Stacy back to their table, but she persuades him into another dance as "When You Say Nothing At All" by Alison Krauss begins.

_It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart. Without saying a word you can light up the dark. Try as I may I could never explain what I hear when you don't say a thing. The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me, the touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall. You say it best when you say nothing at all._

Stacy presses herself as close to Greg as possible as they sway to the music, thinking about how much closer they've become over the past year, how Greg is finally beginning to trust her enough to share his feelings, how much she loves him. If someone were to tell her that night that in a little over a year something would happen that could destroy everything they have, she never would have believed it.

(To Be Continued…)


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 19)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

This one is a bit short, but better short than nothing, right? As usual, comments, feedback, suggestions, etc., are appreciated:)

Where Ch. 18 ended:

_Stacy presses herself as close to Greg as possible as they sway to the music, thinking about how much closer they've become over the past year, how Greg is finally beginning to trust her enough to share his feelings, how much she loves him. If someone were to tell her that night that in a little over a year something would happen that could destroy everything they have, she never would have believed it._

**--------------------**

The click-clack of Lisa's approaching heels interrupts Stacy's memories of Cape May, bringing her back to the present reality of the situation, and the stark surgery waiting room. "Stacy, I've finally got James on the phone. He's at the Sydney airport trying to get on an earlier flight back. He wants to talk to you, so I've transferred the call to your office."

Stacy nods and stands. "Did you tell him everything?" she asks.

"I told him about the misdiagnosis of the infarction, the removal of the blockage, House's refusal of amputation, and the debridement," she says matter-of-factly.

"Did you…tell him…what I did? Does he think I was…wrong?" Stacy asks, her voice cracking.

"Stacy, I'm sure he would have recommended the same procedure, especially after the cardiac incident. Medically, it was the best course of action aside from complete amputation. Now go talk to him."

Stacy enters her office for the first time in days, sits at her desk, sighs, and picks up the phone. "Hello?"

"Stacy, hi. Cuddy told me about House's infarction. It's so…unbelievable. How are you holding up?"

"She told you…what I did," Stacy says, barely above a whisper.

"That you authorized the debridement after he was put into a medically-induced coma? Yes. She told me."

"Was it…wrong? Was I wrong, James?" she asks, her throat dry and scratchy.

"Wrong? Medically? No. Given what Cuddy told me, after amputation, this is the next best course of action. It's what I would tell any patient of mine in the same situation, as would House."

"But he said he didn't want it, James. He specifically said _no_ amputation, _no_ removal of dead muscle tissue. But after the bloodflow was restored, he coded…"

"Cuddy told me."

"…and I…I just…I tried to reason with him…" Wilson can hear that she's crying. "James, I can't lose him, too! I couldn't risk it. I -- "

"I know. You did the right thing, Stacy."

"But you know Greg won't see it that way."

"Well, let's wait and see -- "

"You _know_ he won't see it that way. He'll never forgive me."

"Okay. He _won't_ see it that way. But he loves you. Eventually, he'll…forgive you." Stacy hears in his voice the trace of uncertainty he's trying so hard to hide.

"God, I hope you're right. Or I might lose him anyway."

"You sound exhausted. Try to get some rest. I'm trying to get on the next flight out. Hopefully I'll be back in Princeton late tomorrow night. I'll call you when I get in," he tells her. "And, Stacy. You made the right call."

**--------------------**

Over the past four years Stacy has become friends with James, too; he comes over at least twice a week to hang out with Greg, and he even slept on their couch for a few weeks after Susan kicked him out. And they formed a bond of sorts when her mom got sick…she wishes she could talk to her now, she thinks, as she holds her crucifix in her hand. She usually wears it around her neck on a chain, but the clasp broke the day before when Greg, turning it around "because he likes to see", yanked on it as another wave of pain wracked his body.

Raised in an orphanage in Jackson, Mississippi, after being left on the doorstep with just the crucifix around her neck and a letter, Evelyn Barrett was a strong and confident woman. At 18, she rented herself a room in a boarding house and got a job as a receptionist in a busy downtown accounting firm where she met and fell in love with Stacy's father, William. They married and a year later Stacy was born. Six years later William was killed in a car accident leaving Evelyn to raise Stacy alone. She and Stacy were extremely close. They spoke on the phone daily, and no matter where Stacy was living, they always made a point of spending Thanksgiving together. Still fingering the crucifix, Stacy thinks back to last Thanksgiving…

**--------------------**

It's the day before Thanksgiving and Greg is picking up Chinese takeout to bring home for dinner. He looks at his watch. 6:10. Stacy must have returned from picking up her mom at the Newark airport by now. Greg's always been fond of Evie. She looks a lot like Stacy; although older and slightly heavier, she is an attractive lady with dark glossy hair, hazel eyes, and a warm smile. He smiles slightly to himself as he remembers the first time he met her, when she came to visit only months after he and Stacy moved in together. His first words to her were, "Wow! Stacy didn't tell me she had a _sister_!" Evie blushed and smiled, and Greg added, "Seriously, I can _finally_ stop worrying about what Stacy will look like in 20 years!" (Stacy had hit him on the arm good-naturedly and told him to shut up.) Also, like Stacy, Evie is strong and smart and funny, and she appreciates Greg's sense of humor.

Greg arrives home to find Stacy and Evie sitting at the kitchen table. "Hi, Evie," he says with a smile as he approaches the two women, his arms full of takeout bags which he deposits on the table.

"Greg, hi." Evie stands up and gives him a hug. This is when he realizes that both she and Stacy have been crying.

"What's going on?" He looks from one woman to the other and pulls out a chair and joins them.

"Greg. My mom….she…," Stacy begins to get choked up and reaches for the box of tissues on the table.

While Stacy's trying to recompose herself, Evie reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. "Greg, I have epithelial ovarian cancer. Stage 4. It's in my liver and the lining of my lungs."

"Oh, Evie," he sighs and shakes his head. "Give me the name of your doctor. I'll have Wilson call him." Evie knows Wilson, as he, too, joins them every Thanksgiving day.

Greg has never seen Stacy so vulnerable – she's usually so strong and in control, he thinks – and he finds it somewhat unsettling. That night, after Evie is comfortably tucked into the sofabed in the living room, he holds Stacy in their bed, feeling utterly helpless while she cries silently.

(To Be Continued…)


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 20)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

As usual, feedback, comments, and suggestions are welcome. :) And many thanks again to lingprof for being my beta.

Where Ch. 19 ended:

_Greg has never seen Stacy so vulnerable – she's usually so strong and in control, he thinks – and he finds it somewhat unsettling. That night, after Evie is comfortably tucked into the sofabed in the living room, he holds Stacy in their bed, feeling utterly helpless while she cries silently._

**--------------------**

"Get up, sleepyhead! Time to start the day!" Stacy chirps cheerfully as she pulls back the drapes to let some light into their room.

"Hmmf," is all Greg mutters, as he rolls over in bed turning away from the sunshine.

"Gotta' get your sweats on and get ready for football! It's almost 11:00 and James will be here soon!" Stacy exclaims, playfully slapping his behind through the comforter.

"Hey! No need for violence," he tells her, sitting up and yawning. Then he narrows his eyes and looks at her suspiciously. "Why are you so happy? Last night --"

"I was overreacting. I --"

"Overreacting?" Greg looks at her confused. "I don't think --"

"James called this morning. My mom's doctor in Jackson faxed him her records last night and then they spoke on the phone." While she's animatedly talking, she's trying to make the bed, motioning for him to get up. "Mom's going to move here, and James has a rigorous treatment plan for her," Stacy smiles. "She's going to have debulking surgery – an ovariectomy – and then chemo to kill everything else."

"Sweetheart," he begins gently. "That's great, but you need to be realistic." She's always been a fighter – which is why he was surprised to see her in such a vulnerable state the night before – but he's concerned that she is being overly optimistic. "It's Stage 4 and --"

"I know. I do." She walks over to him and leans up to give him a peck on the lips. "But I have a really good feeling about this. Now get dressed and _maybe_ my mom will give you a taste of pumpkin pie when it comes out of the oven."

**--------------------**

As they do every Thanksgiving, Greg and James watch football and drink beer in the living room, and Stacy and Evie talk and sing as they cook and bake together in the kitchen. During halftime of the first game, Greg asks Wilson about Evie's condition. "What did you tell Stacy about her mom?"

"I told her the truth. What do you _think_ I told her?" he asks, exasperated.

Greg shrugs. "She seems a little too optimistic."

"I explained that we could take an aggressive approach which _might_, and I stressed _might_, give her about two to three years. And I emphasized the extremely unpleasant side-effects of the extensive chemo treatments she'll need to undergo. You know me; I don't sugar-coat things for my patients."

"No, but you flash your 'warm smile' and they leave your office feeling like they won the lottery rather than like they've just been given a death sentence," House tells him mockingly.

"I talked to Stacy _on the phone_. She couldn't see my 'warm smile', House," Wilson replies as he finishes off his third beer.

**--------------------**

Stacy has always been a little bit in awe of her mother's good-natured attitude and zest for life. She tries to put a positive spin on everything and looks for the proverbial silver lining in every cloud, regardless of the fact that she was raised in an orphanage, widowed at a young age, and was now diagnosed with cancer at 60.

All of the sudden, while Stacy's slicing vegetables for the salad and Evie is mixing up the stuffing, Stacy bursts into tears. "This is…this _could_ be...the last Thanksgiving that..." She can't finish the sentence.

Evie hugs her. "Honey, that's exactly why we should make this the best Thanksgiving ever! Luckily I'm not too ill to enjoy it, yet, so let's try to have fun."

"But how can you be so fine with all of this?"

"For one thing, I don't have a choice. But, more importantly, I've lived a good life; I've been happy, I had love. My life has been wonderful. And I have a smart, beautiful daughter. I am so proud of you," she smiles, tears in her eyes. "And I know your father would be, too." After a moment, Evie pulls away and touches the crucifix she wears around her neck. "Now, then. We have a turkey to stuff!"

**--------------------**

After Thanksgiving, Stacy accompanies Evie back to Jackson to help her pack up her small house and to arrange for movers to bring her things to an apartment in Princeton just a few blocks from Greg and Stacy. She has the ovariectomy and begins to undergo outpatient chemo. Stacy stays with her at her apartment some nights when she's feeling particularly unwell. After several weeks, the chemo is really exhausting her, and she loses her hair. An appointment with James confirms that, while the chemo is shrinking the cancer in her liver, the cancer in her lungs is not affected. He suggests a different, even more potent, chemo combo. Evie looks weary, but Stacy readily agrees. James has Evie check into PPTH for this round of treatment which, he warns, will be even more draining.

**--------------------**

One afternoon Stacy returns to her office after visiting Evie to find Greg waiting for her. He takes a deep breath and says, "Stacy, we need to talk."

As she unlocks her office door, she replies, "Can we talk at home later because--"

"Now. We need to talk now," he says seriously.

"Okay, come in," she says, opening the door.

"Not here. We can't talk about this here. Let's go somewhere else."

They walk down the street to Lucia's, a small, independent coffee and wine bar with overstuffed purple, gold and green upholstered chairs and sofas.

"You sit, I'll order. What do you want?" he asks.

"Just a coffee."

She finds a pair of chairs flanking a small table near a large window. Shortly, Greg brings over two coffees. Setting one down in front of her, he says, "Double milk, no sugar."

She smiles. "Now what's so important that it couldn't wait?"

"It's about your mom," he says seriously.

"I just saw her right before I met you at my office. She was fine. What's wrong?" She asks, panic in her voice.

"She asked me to talk to you." Stacy looks at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. Greg reaches across the table and places a large hand over her smaller one. "She doesn't want to continue chemotherapy treatments."

"Wha – I – I don't understand. If she doesn't have them, she'll die!"

Greg nods. "And if she continues, she'll still die. She might have more time, but she'll be miserable – and _you'll_ be miserable. She doesn't want to drag it out – for herself or for you."

"But there's a chance that, with the chemo, she could have a couple more years! Right?"

He nods. "There's always a chance, but, considering that the chemo still hasn't minimized the cancer cells in her lungs...this is really something Wilson can explain better than I can. And look what it's doing to her. You see how sick the chemo makes her – and how tired it leaves her," he adds.

"Why isn't she willing to go through it?" Stacy asks. "What about me? She's my _mother_. Maybe I _need_ her to be here!" She responds angrily, pulling her hand out from under his.

"It's what she wants, Stacy. We have to respect that. It's her life, her body. And I am certain that she is thinking of what's best for you, too."

Stacy nods, closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears she feels pricking her eyes. "Why...why...didn't she...tell me herself?" she asks.

"She's concerned about you. She knew it would upset you. After she told Wilson how she wants to proceed, she asked me to talk to you about it."

Stacy nods slowly, staring off into the distance for a moment until Greg's voice brings her back.

"There's more," he tells her, taking her hand in his again. "We'll continue palliative care and pain management, of course, but when her quality of life gets to the point where she feels it's not worth it..." He takes a deep breath, and continues gently. "Stacy, she wants us to help her end her life." His eyes are soft, searching her face for her reaction; he's not sure how she will respond.

She nods again in understanding, but now she's unable to hold back her tears. Greg doesn't know how to respond when she cries. He wishes he could fix everything, but he knows there's nothing he can say or do that will change this. He quickly stands up and goes to the coffee bar to grab a handful of napkins. When he holds them out to her, she stands up and flings herself into his arms sobbing loudly. People are looking at them; he hates public displays of emotion. Nevertheless, he holds her tightly for several minutes while she cries, whispering "I'm sorry. I'll help you. It'll be okay." He has no idea how to help her, and he's pretty sure things will _not_ be okay.

(To Be Continued…)


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 21)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 20 ended:

_She nods again in understanding, but now she's unable to hold back her tears. Greg doesn't know how to respond when she cries. He wishes he could fix everything, but he knows there's nothing he can say or do that will change this. He quickly stands up and goes to the coffee bar to grab a handful of napkins. When he holds them out to her, she stands up and flings herself into his arms sobbing loudly. People are looking at them; he hates public displays of emotion. Nevertheless, he holds her tightly for several minutes while she cries, whispering "I'm sorry. I'll help you. It'll be okay." He has no idea how to help her, and he's pretty sure things will_ not _be okay._

**--------------------**

As the weeks progress, Evie's condition worsens, and Stacy insists that Evie move in with her and Greg. Wilson makes arrangements with a home hospice care service he frequently works with and a hospital bed is set up in their living room. Palliative treatment and a part-time hospice worker are also provided under Wilson's supervision.

Stacy cuts back her hours at PPTH, working only in the mornings, spending the afternoons at home with Evie. She has a frantic desire to record everything she possibly can about her mother's life, so she spends a good deal of time questioning Evie about growing up in the orphanage, falling in love with Stacy's father, raising her daughter alone, and anything else she can think of while she tape records their conversations.

One Friday afternoon Stacy goes to pick up takeout after Greg arrives home from work with Wilson in tow. Wilson comes over almost every afternoon to check on Evie and adjust her medication, and frequently stays for dinner. When she returns, Stacy notices the sweet, heady aroma immediately when she opens the door leading from the garage to the kitchen of the townhouse. "What's going on in here?" she calls out. "It smells like…a rock concert!"

In the living room Stacy is surprised to find Evie propped up in bed smoking a joint. Greg is sitting at one end of the sofa, his feet resting on the coffee table, joint in hand, and James is sitting at the other end, rolling another one. All three pairs of eyes are riveted to the TV, on which the day's taped episode of "General Hospital" is playing.

"What the – I can't believe you're smoking marijuana in our _house_! I'm an _attorney_ for goodness sake!" Stacy exclaims, setting the takeout bags on the coffee table next to Wilson's work area.

"And we're doctors, sweetheart," Greg replies in a mellow drawl. "It's medicinal," he adds, winking at her as he pats the spot on the sofa next to him, motioning for her to sit.

"Here, have one," James says, holding out the one he was rolling just moments before.

She looks at Evie who, for the first time in days, actually looks happy. "It's okay, honey. Have one. You need to relax," she tells her daughter.

Stacy sighs, resigned. She takes the joint from James and plops down on the sofa between the two men. "So what's happening today on "General Hosp --"

"Shh!" Greg interrupts. "Tony's about to tell Bobbie that he's been cheating on her. Pay attention, Jimmy! Maybe you can pick up some tips!" he says before taking a long drag. Wilson shoots him an evil look. It's been a year since he cheated on Susan, ending his second marriage.

**--------------------**

The end is drawing near for Evie. Almost every day for the next week, Wilson ups her pain meds, which only make her more drowsy and incoherent. Wilson, Greg, and Stacy (though she pretends not to) all see this, but no one will say anything; it's Evie's call. When Wilson arrives early Saturday morning, Evie immediately beckons for him to come to her. Greg and Stacy are in the kitchen.

James sits on the edge of Evie's bed and takes her hand in his. "How are you today, Evie?" he asks gently, already knowing exactly what she's going to say.

"James, it's time," she tells him calmly. "There's no point to this anymore." Stacy and Greg enter the living room just in time to hear this.

"Mom…no. Please. I'm…I'm not ready…" Stacy says, her voice shaky, as she walks over to her mother.

"Stacy, honey, you'll never be ready," Evie says. "But it's time."

Turning back to Wilson, Evie tells him, "You _will_ find what you're looking for, James. But first you need to be honest with yourself about what it is that you really want." Stacy and Greg exchange a look, having no idea what Evie's talking about, but Wilson nods in understanding. "You're a dear man, and I can't thank you enough for the care and concern you've shown to me over these past weeks," Evie continues. "Stacy and Greg are lucky to have you for a friend."

Wilson smiles at her, his eyes shiny, and says, "Godspeed, Evie," and kisses her on the cheek. Then he stands up, nods at Greg, and disappears into the kitchen.

"Stacy, I want to talk to Greg for a minute. Alone." Stacy, her eyes damp, wants to protest but thinks better of it and goes into the kitchen.

"Greg, come here," Evie says, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the bed. He's uncomfortable with the whole situation, but he does as she asks, and, putting her hand on his arm, she continues. "Stacy's never loved anyone the way she loves you."

"I love her, too, Evie. You know that," he manages quietly, his throat dry.

"Her love is real, true. But you have to trust her, Greg," she says. He's momentarily irritated at the thought that Stacy obviously has told her some things about their relationship, but then he remembers she's dying and he just nods curtly. "She seems strong – she _is_ strong – but she's only human. Help her through this."

"Of course, Evie," he tells her, keenly aware of the fact that he has no idea how to do this.

"And, Greg? One more thing. Would you please undo the clasp of my crucifix?" she asks, bringing her head forward with some effort. He removes the necklace and places it in her hand.

"Goodbye, Evie," he says quietly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll get Stacy." He goes in the kitchen and Stacy, crying silently, comes in and sits down on Evie's bed.

"Mom, I just can't believe this is really happening," she says, her voice cracking. "I can't imagine my life without you," she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing out large tears that slide down her cheeks.

"You know," Evie says gently, "I never had the chance to know my mother, nor did she know me. You and I, we're lucky we had all this time together."

Stacy nods, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. "But…what am I going to do…without you?" she chokes out.

"I want you to have this." Evie takes Stacy's hand and places the crucifix in it, closing her daughter's fingers around it. "Keep this close to your heart and know that I'll always be with you, no matter what. Never forget how much I love you, Stacy." Both women are crying now, and Stacy leans in to hold Evie one last time.

Greg is standing in the doorway holding the syringe. Evie nods at him over Stacy's shoulder, and he approaches. He waits for Stacy to see him and when their eyes meet he releases the contents into Evie's IV while she and Stacy continue to embrace.

**--------------------**

Though Greg and James both offer to make the necessary arrangements, Stacy insists on doing everything herself. She makes several phone calls to arrange for Evie's body to be picked up and cremated, as per Evie's wishes, and for the hospital equipment to be removed, insisting that these things happen as soon as possible.

A few hours later, after Evie's body is taken away along with the hospital bed, IV stand, prescription bottles, and other medical paraphernalia, Stacy wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands, blows her nose, and asks Greg if he'll eat lasagna for dinner. He thought there would be a lot of crying and…something…but not this. She's too calm. He stares at her, eyes narrow, trying to figure out how she is. "What? Just answer me. Will you? Eat lasagna?" she asks again.

He nods curtly and watches while she begins to frantically clean the living room, wiping down the coffee table, bookshelves, and even the leather sofa with lemon-scented cleanser. "Stacy, why are you doing this?"

"Haven't cleaned since before my mom moved in with us," she replies, shrugging, as she opens the closet and drags out the vacuum cleaner. "Don't just sit there and watch me. Why don't you do something? In fact, I just remembered we don't have ricotta cheese for the lasagna. Can you go pick some up at the store?"

"Stacy, I don't think you should be --"

"I'm fine. Please go. And pick up a loaf of French bread, too."

"Are you sure you --"

"Go! I'm fine, I'm gonna' vacuum. You hate the sound. Besides," she adds, smiling weakly, "I _really_ want lasagna."

When Greg returns from the store, Stacy is just putting the vacuum away. "I did the whole house," she tells him with satisfaction.

"But you didn't have to. Martha's coming Tuesday," he tells her. What a stupid thing to say. Of course, she already knows that; the cleaning lady comes _every_ Tuesday. He's so not good at this. She just gives him an annoyed look.

In two hours she mops the kitchen floor, does three loads of laundry, changes the sheets on their bed, and gets the lasagna in the oven. Greg doesn't know what to say or do, so he stares at the TV only half paying attention, waiting for…what, he's not sure. He's never seen Stacy like this, never seen her deal with grief or tragedy…or any situation completely out of her control. He's oddly both curious and afraid. Finally, she tells him dinner is ready, and they eat salad, lasagna, French bread, and wine, as if it is any other night – except they're both quieter than usual, avoiding any meaningful conversation.

Afterward, Stacy begins clearing the table and drops a plate; it shatters when it hits the floor. When she begins to pick up the shards, she slices her finger. Almost immediately her hand is covered with blood, and she swears and bursts into tears. Greg quickly locates the First Aid kit and cleans and bandages her finger while she sobs uncontrollably. He knows what to do with the finger, but beyond that he has no idea. He leads her into their bedroom and coaxes her to lie down; then he sits on the edge of the bed and awkwardly rubs her back. "I'm so sorry, Stacy," he tells her. This just makes her cry harder. Great, he's making things worse, he thinks. He brushes her hair, now wet from tears and sticking to her cheek, out of her face. "Listen, Stacy. I'm not good at this. You _know_ that. Just…tell me what I can do."

"There's…nothing…anyone…can do!" she squeaks out between sobs. "My mom…is…dead!"

"I know. I know. C'mere," he says, pulling her up into his arms.

"I just…I feel so alone now. I don't…have any family left," she cries into his neck.

"You have _me_. _I'm_ your family," he tells her. He holds her for a while until, finally, her sobs become quiet gasps and she stops.

"Remember when you asked me a while ago what you can do?"

He nods.

"Make love to me," she says quietly.

He's a little surprised by her request, but at least it's something he knows how to do, he thinks, pulling back to study her face.

"Please?" she asks, her large hazel eyes pleading. Before he can answer, her mouth is on his, kissing him softly, her tongue pushing past his lips while her hands slide up under the front of his shirt.

He pulls away slowly and sighs, resting his forehead on hers. "Are you sure this is what you want right now?" he asks.

"I just really need to feel close to you… feel you against me… inside me… touching me," she whispers, averting her eyes from his.

"Hey, look at me," he says softly, putting his fist under her chin and tilting her face up to his. "I can do that."

He pushes her gently back on the bed and undresses her slowly, tenderly touching and caressing her before finally standing up, removing his own clothes, and positioning himself above her. It's been a while – since before Evie moved in – and he's _really_ missed this, missed _her_…but he wants to give her what she needs so he concentrates on being slow, gentle, and attentive.

He stops moving inside her when he feels hot tears against his cheek and realizes she's crying again.

"Don't. Don't stop. Please," she chokes softly in his ear, holding him to her tightly.

"This crying while we make love is kind of bad for my ego, you know," he says gently, turning to look at her face.

Smiling weakly through her tears, she replies, "You have a _very_ healthy ego in that regard, so I'm not worried."

"Are you…going to keep crying?" he asks.

"Maybe. But just…please. Don't stop."

Their lovemaking is tender and loving and bittersweet, and Stacy cries softly the whole time.

"Thank you," she whispers into his chest afterward.

"You should know by now that you _never_ need to thank me for making love to you," he says, holding her tightly against him.

(To Be Continued...)


	22. Chapter 22

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 22)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 21 ended:

_Their lovemaking is tender and loving and bittersweet, and Stacy cries softly the whole time._

_"Thank you," she whispers into his chest afterward._

_"You should know by now that you never need to thank me for making love to you," he says, holding her tightly against him._

**--------------------**

Stacy's drying her eyes, remembering the day her mom died and the way Greg made love to her that night, when there's a knock on her office door. "Come in," she says loudly, and Lisa pushes the door open and remains in the doorway.

"Stacy, I just received word that they're closing up now; Greg should be in recovery within the hour. Go back to the surgery waiting room and we'll let you know as soon as you can see him."

"Thanks, Lisa." Stacy sighs. "God, I hope he'll forgive me…"

"You made the right call, Stacy," Lisa says as she ducks out of the doorway. As Stacy gathers her things and locks her office, she's struck once again by the fact that Greg almost died – and he's only forty years old. She remembers his last birthday...

**--------------------**

It's June 11, 1999, Greg's 40th birthday. Stacy insists on making this birthday a big deal since it's his 40th, and she warns him in advance. Normally he'd resist her, but she's been depressed since her mom died (less than three months earlier), and the thought of having a party cheers her up, so he agrees.

Stacy invites James and his new girlfriend, Julie; their friends Jill and Rick; and Bill Morgan, a neurologist Greg golfs with, and his wife, Susie. She spends the whole day preparing a lovely meal with Greg's favorite foods and baking a chocolate fudge whipped cream cake.

The party is a hit; everyone has a good time, enjoys the food, and laughs a lot. Greg is uncomfortable with opening the gifts – he always has trouble receiving things from people – but manages to get through it with a degree of decorum and obviously loves the gifts – Mets tickets from James and Julie, an outrageously expensive bottle of Scotch from Jill and Rick, and a new nine-iron golf club from Bill and Susie.

After everyone leaves and the townhouse is cleaned up, Stacy tells Greg she has a present for him, too. "And I have one for _you_," he tells her.

"But it's not _my_ birthday!" she exclaims. He only shrugs.

They sit down on the sofa and she hands him a small box wrapped in silver paper, topped with a blue bow. He unwraps it to find a beautiful platinum Seiko watch with a black face. "Turn it over," Stacy tells him, snuggling up against him. The back is engraved, _Greg You have all my love, now and forever Stacy_.

He reads it and swallows thickly, a lump in his throat. "I don't…I don't deserve you," he says, looking down at the watch. "But I do love you," he adds, his eyes meeting hers.

"I know. And you do deserve me," she replies adamantly, just before kissing him deeply. After a few minutes, he pulls away.

"I almost forgot to give you my present," he says, jumping up. He goes into the study and emerges with a glossy burgundy gift bag – the kind she knows they use at the PPTH gift shop – that he holds out to her. "Here. Look inside," he says as he sits back down next to her on the sofa.

She reaches in and pulls out an incredibly tacky looking small plastic snow globe, the word "Paris" printed on its base. It's filled with gold-colored replicas of the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame Cathedral, and another building she doesn't recognize. "It's…Paris," she says, unsure of how to respond. "And…it's…lovely. You know how much I have always wanted to go to Paris. Thank you, honey," she says and leans over to kiss him.

Greg pulls away and laughs. "It's a cheesy plastic piece of junk! But there's more in the bag," he says, raising his eyebrows.

Indeed, there is. Stacy pulls out two plane tickets to Paris along with a hotel brochure and reservation confirmations. "What…? This is… We're –"

"Going to Paris! Over Thanksgiving. I talked to Cuddy and she's fine with both of us taking that week off."

Stacy kisses Greg softly on the lips. "I couldn't possibly be more surprised. You…you know Thanksgiving will be difficult because my mom…"

"Yeah. I know. So I thought it would be a good time to…get away. And Evie would want you to see Paris, you know." Stacy nods, and Greg continues, "I was going to save this to give to you until closer to the time, but you've been so sad, I thought it might cheer you up."

"Thank you, sweetheart. How can you even think you don't deserve me? Maybe _I_ don't deserve _you_," she says, shaking her head. Why doesn't he realize how happy he makes her? That he's worthy of her love? She kisses him again. "Now, for your last birthday present…I have something very special planned, just for you…" she begins seductively, as she takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom…

**--------------------**

She sits down in the surgery waiting room once again. She takes her mother's crucifix out of her purse and clutches it tightly in her fist. She can feel the ridges of the cross cutting into her skin. It's only a matter of minutes before a nurse clad in yellow scrubs comes in and calls her name.

"Ms. Barrett, Dr. Cuddy instructed me to take you back to see Dr. House." Stacy follows the nurse down a wide, white hallway. As they walk, the nurse explains that Greg hasn't come out from under the anesthesia yet and that he is being monitored by a post-op nurse.

When they arrive at Greg's curtained off section of post-op, Stacy is directed toward a chair to the right of Greg's bed. On the opposite side, the post-op nurse sits on a stool. She nods briefly at Stacy and continues to monitor the readings from various machines while making notations in his chart. Stacy sits down and takes Greg's limp right hand in hers. He looks so pale – worse than when he came out of the surgery to remove the blockage a couple of days ago. She notes the harsh lines etched in his face, particularly around his eyes, which are puffy and red. Still holding his right hand in hers, she brings her left hand up to caress his cheek. "I love you, sweetheart," she whispers.

Tears once again threaten to spill down her cheeks as a never-ending monologue runs through her mind: What has she done? Did she do the right thing? He could have died. He told her he wouldn't die, but then he _did_. Technically he _died_. He was too stubborn and too close to the situation to think clearly. She couldn't risk losing him. She loves him. She loves him more than she had ever thought it possible to love someone. She can't imagine her life without him in it. She just lost her mom less than six months ago. Statistically, she did the right thing. Lisa and James agreed. But he'll never see it that way. He's too stubborn. And he's too screwed up. He already thinks he's damaged, but at least people can't see it. He couldn't let go of the leg because then the damage would be visible. And people might pity him. And it would give him another reason to hate himself. He doesn't think he deserves happiness. And, for that, she has only his parents to thank. She hates them for what they did, how they made him feel. The last time they saw Blythe and John was only a few weeks ago and it was a disaster. She now understands Greg better, and she truly _hates_ his parents.

**--------------------**

In July Blythe and John invite Greg and Stacy to visit them at their large new cabin in Michigan on the shore of Lake Superior. Stacy doesn't really want to go, but Greg does, which surprises her since he clearly can't stand being with his father. "It's only for a weekend," he tells her. She realizes later that somewhere deep inside he thinks he can reach some kind of resolution with his father, his childhood, his past.

They fly into Houghton, the nearest town, and then rent a car to drive the 45 minutes to the cabin. It's large and new and literally right on the lake. Blythe and John give them a tour. They are standing in the kitchen looking out the window at the lake when John asks Greg, "So. How's work?"

"Fine," Greg replies.

"Good. Just keep your mouth shut and maybe it'll stay that way. Hate to see you get fired yet again."

"John, Greg's not going to get fired –" Blythe begins, trying to smooth things over.

"Why not? He's always mouthing off to superiors, challenging rules. Been that way since he was a child."

Greg just rolls his eyes. "I'll go get our bags from the car."

"Okay. One of you can sleep in the guest room upstairs and the other will have to sleep down here on the sofa," John tells him.

"What are you talking about?" Greg asks, genuinely confused.

"Whatever sinful behavior happens under _your_ roof, that's your business; but here, in my house, that will not be tolerated."

"This is ridiculous! We're not teenagers! We –" Greg begins, his temper escalating.

Stacy interrupts. "It's fine, Mr., I mean, _Colonel_ House. Greg can sleep in the guest room and I will sleep down here," she says firmly, giving Greg her "be quiet, it's not worth it" look.

"Good!" John booms. "Glad to hear you've got a bit of sense after all. Don't you know he ain't gonna' buy the cow if you keep giving him the milk for free?"

Greg walks right up to his father and says in a low voice, using an extreme amount of control, "You can say whatever you want to me. But _don't_, I repeat, _don't_ insult Stacy." Then more loudly he adds, "And you're one to talk! Don't think I don't know that the only reason mom married you is because you knocked her up." He slowly enunciates each syllable.

"You are an ungrateful bastard, Greg!" John shouts, his face red with anger.

"Well, you _almost_ got the bastard part right!" Greg retorts.

"After everything I've tried to teach you, you've still amounted to nothing but a smartass!" John shouts. Then, to Stacy's surprise, he raises his arm and takes a swing at Greg, who smoothly ducks out of the way, pivots, and storms out the back door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Stacy is furious; she walks right up to John, who doesn't look remorseful in the least, and has to resist the urge to slap him silly. Instead she shouts right to his face, "How could you _say_ those things to him? And I can't believe you were going to _hit_ him! _Why_ are you so intent on hurting him? You have a brilliant, kind, funny, wonderful son who is a world-renowned doctor, yet you constantly berate him! What the _hell_ is _wrong_ with you?" She is screaming at the top of her lungs now. Taken aback, John just looks at her.

Blythe puts her hand on Stacy's arm. "Now, Stacy, John doesn't mean to upset Greg. He loves him. He just--"

"Just _what_? There is absolutely _nothing_ you can say to make this alright. STOP making excuses for him! You are destroying him! You _have_ destroyed him – both of you!" She pushes Blythe's hand off her arm and storms out the back door. She willed herself not to cry in front of Blythe and John, but as the screen door slams behind her she bursts into tears. She's beginning to understand why he never thinks he's good enough, smart enough, why he has this aversion to happiness.

She sees his lanky frame in the distance. He is walking along the lake, skipping stones onto the surface. She wants to go to him, but she knows she has to pull herself together first; he'll be even more upset if he sees she's been crying. She leans against a tree and takes several deep breaths trying to regain control of her emotions. She wipes her eyes and cheeks with her hands, and begins to walk over to where he is. She's not sure what she'll say, but she needs to go to him.

When she reaches him, he doesn't look at her. In fact, he ignores her presence completely and continues to skip stones into the lake. She opens her mouth to speak, but realizes she has no idea what to say. She just wants to hold him close, but she knows that when he is hurting like this, he needs space. So, instead, she silently picks up a few stones and joins him in skidding stones across the lake. They do this silently for some time. She surreptitiously glances at him every few minutes, but cannot read what he is thinking or feeling. He continues to pay her no attention but, at least, she thinks, he knows she's there for him.

Finally, he stops and thrusts his hands into his pockets. He stares straight ahead into the horizon where water meets sky. She moves closer to him until she is only inches away. A few minutes pass and then he turns to her. When she looks up into the watery depths of his eyes, she feels her heart break for him. "Oh, Greg," she whispers hoarsely, as she takes his face in her hands. He swallows hard and closes his eyes. She stands on her tiptoes, gently pulls his face toward her, and places tender kisses on his eyelids.

"You are --" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Stacy, don't. Please. Don't say anything," he pleads with her, his voice quiet.

She nods, slips an arm through his, and leads him over to a bench a few feet away. She sits down and motions for him to sit next to her. He does. She pulls his head down into her lap and tangles her hands in his hair. He feels incredibly vulnerable. He's never let anyone see him like this, not even Stacy. He turns his head toward the lake so she can't see his face.

"Greg," she begins gently. "You don't need to hide from me. I _love_ you. Nothing will ever change that."

He doesn't respond. They stay like that, both silent, his head in her lap, her hands in his hair, for what seems like a long time. Then Greg begins to talk.

"One night after dinner – I think I was about 11 or 12, he asked me to take the garbage out. There was a snowstorm. I said I'd do it in the morning, but he insisted I do it right then. After dragging the cans through a foot of snow to the end of the driveway, I turned around to see him closing the garage door. I went to the front door and then around to the back door, but he had locked both. I nearly froze, huddled in a ball on the back stoop, until about 3 am when he opened the door. As I walked past him into the house, he told me I was a failure and would never amount to anything."

"Where was your mom?" Stacy ventures.

"Gone to bed early with a migraine."

"Why didn't you ring the bell or pound on the door? Surely she would have heard."

"She would have gotten upset with my dad; they would have ended up fighting. He always berated her for not disciplining me, told her it was her fault I was the way I was."

"You were a normal little boy. You knew that, didn't you?"

He doesn't say anything. Her heart is breaking for that little boy – who still exists somewhere deep inside the man she loves. She's trying hard not to cry, because she's afraid if she does, he won't tell her these things.

After another long period of silence, Stacy asks, "Did he hit you?" She already knows the answer before he speaks.

"I was seven the first time. He and my mom went to a parent-teacher conference and my teacher told them I was disruptive in class because I asked too many questions. When they got home, he put me over his knee, pulled down my pants, and let into me with his belt. My mom was crying and begging him to stop. Finally he did. Then he locked me in the broom closet and told me to think about showing respect to my elders and following orders without question."

"And your mom let him?" Stacy asks. Her voice is shaking and she hopes Greg doesn't notice.

"I heard them fighting. She was pleading with him, saying I was just a boy, but he told her boys need to be guided with a strong hand, tough love and all that bull." His voice is dull, emotionless.

"How long did you have to stay in the broom closet?" she asks.

"'Til morning."

They sit like this, his head in her lap, until dusk. Then she speaks. "Let's drive to town and stay in a motel. Tomorrow we can see if we can get an earlier flight home." Without saying goodbye to Blythe and John, they leave.

As soon as they get to their motel room, Greg takes a shower. He emerges from the bathroom wearing only his boxers and flops down on the bed. Stacy cuddles against him and begins to kiss him. He protests that he's not in the mood. "S'okay. I just want you to know how much I love you," she says. Sometimes she feels like he'll never believe her, no matter how many times she says it.

(To Be Continued...)


	23. Chapter 23

**Title:** You Were the One (Chapter 23)  
**Author:** Sassydew  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to David Shore, et. al. I'm just borrowing them so that I can satisfy my desire to know what happened with House and Stacy BEFORE...

**--------------------**

Where Ch. 22 ended:

_As soon as they get to their motel room, Greg takes a shower. He emerges from the bathroom wearing only his boxers and flops down on the bed. Stacy cuddles against him and begins to kiss him. He protests that he's not in the mood. "S'okay. I just want you to know how much I love you," she says. Sometimes she feels like he'll never believe her, no matter how many times she says it._

**--------------------**

Stacy stares down at Greg's hand in hers wondering how she's going to tell him what she did and how he will react when his hand moves slightly. She looks up at his face just as his eyelids flutter open for just a moment before closing again.

"Greg, honey?" she says softly.

"Hmmpf," is all he says, and she can see him struggling to open his eyes again while licking his lips, but then he is out of it again.

"It'll take at least a couple of hours for him to fully come to," the post-op nurse tells her. "You look tired. Why don't you go get a cup of coffee?"

Stacy shakes her head. "No. I…I can't. I want to be here whenever he opens his eyes, even if he's still in a haze." The nurse nods and continues to monitor his vitals on the machines.

The waiting is horrible for Stacy. Part of her can hardly wait until he wakes up, hoping that when she tells him what she did, he'll understand, say she did the right thing, forgive her. But the other part of her is dreading his waking, fearing that when she explains what happened, he'll be angry, feel betrayed, hate her. She hates to admit it to herself because she's always prided herself on being independent, but she can't imagine how she could go on with her life without him in it. "Please understand, I did this because I love you," she whispers pleadingly, even though he's still asleep.

After half an hour, Greg's eyes open again. He looks at the ceiling, and then his eyes move around the room lazily, first taking in the post-op nurse on his left, and then Stacy, on his right. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, saying only, "Hi, honey," as she brushes his cheek with her hand. His forehead crinkles in confusion momentarily, but then his eyes close again and it's another hour before he opens them again. Stacy doesn't leave his side for a moment. She remembers when he decided to assign her as his medical proxy.

**--------------------**

Shortly after her mother dies, Stacy is reviewing medical proxy papers for a case she is working on and it occurs to her that should she become incapacitated, Greg would not be authorized to make medical decisions on her behalf - though she would want him to – since they aren't married. She immediately draws up the appropriate papers to make Greg her medical proxy and brings them home for him to sign that very night.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, as he watches her load their dinner plates into the dishwasher.

"Of course. I wouldn't want to leave important decisions up to people who don't know me. And there's also the fact that you're a brilliant doctor."

"But my medical judgement could be clouded if anything were to happen to you."

"I'm asking you as my…" she wasn't sure how to continue. The word boyfriend seemed so childish; she never knew how to refer to him and there usually wasn't a need for a word. They've been together long enough that their friends and colleagues know they are a couple.

"Sex slave?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"My partner. I'm asking you as my partner," she says seriously, rolling her eyes. "But later," she adds with a sly smile, "if you're a good boy, I _might_ let you be my sex slave." She shuts the dishwasher and pushes the start button. He walks up behind her and pulls her against him.

"Whoa, there. First things first," she says, reaching for the papers on the counter. She hands him a pen and shows him where to sign.

"Actually, this is a really good idea. Can you draw up papers to make you _my_ medical proxy?" he asks.

"Well, sure. But what about your parents? Don't you –"

"No. Absolutely not. Which is why this is a great idea I wish I had thought of. Who knows what kinds of decisions they'd make? I doubt they'd have a clue, or even care, what I would want." He takes a deep breath, looks her in the eye, and continues, "But I know you would know what I would want, Stacy, and…" He averts his eyes as he says the last part, "I trust you."

She feels tears prick at her eyes. It means so much to her to hear him say that. She doesn't think he's ever fully truly trusted anyone before, and she's worked so hard to show him that he can trust her – with his love, with his feelings, with his life. She smiles, her eyes shining, "I'll draw up the papers. And hopefully we'll never need to use them. Now, about that sex slave thing you mentioned…"

**--------------------**

She smiles at the memory, but then she feels sick to her stomach at the thought that he very well might view this as a betrayal, withdraw his trust in her completely, never trust anyone again. Knowing she's going to vomit, she asks the nurse where the bathroom is and rushes out, covering her mouth with her hand. She throws up clear bile, having very little in her stomach, and feels weak and shaky as she walks back to where Greg is. She resumes her place at his bedside, taking his hand in hers once again.

A few minutes later, Greg's eyes open again, and he looks right at her. He says only, his voice a dry whisper, "Stacy…water."

The post-op nurse tells Stacy she'll get it, and she returns quickly with some ice chips in a Styrofoam cup. She spoons one into Greg's mouth and then hands the cup and plastic spoon to Stacy, saying, "You can give him these – slowly." Then she turns back to Greg and asks, "Do you feel pain anywhere? We've got you on painkillers, but we can up the dose if necessary."

"Pain?" he asks, groggy and confused. "No. No pain." He turns to Stacy, who gives him another spoon of ice chips. Wha? What…happened?" he asks her, a bewildered look on his face. Stacy nods at the nurse, who checks his vitals quickly, makes a notation in the chart, and leaves.

"Greg, honey," she begins again, sliding another ice chip between his lips, "You had surgery again to –"

"Wha? Wha'd'ya'mean?" He interrupts, slurring his words, trying to sit up. Stacy gently pushes his shoulders back down. "Why?"

"Well," she begins, "the muscle death in your leg was creating toxins that –"

As if finally struck by realization, he screams as loudly as his parched throat will allow, "My leg!" and again tries to sit up, reaching for it. "Did they take my leg?" The words come out scratchy and frantic, his eyes flashing with fear.

"Shhh! No, no, sweetheart. It's okay. See? Your leg is right here." The words tumble out of her mouth quickly as she pats the calf of his right leg, reassuring him that he still has his leg. Seeing this, he allows himself to fall back against the bed. She gives him another spoon of ice chips and when he's barely finished swallowing, his eyes close again.

Stacy's exhausted and weak and she falls asleep sitting in the chair next to his bed until his voice awakens her. "Stacy," he says, "Wha? What happened?" His voice is still dry and scratchy so she reaches for the cup of ice chips on the little table, where she left them. She's not sure how long she's been asleep, but the ice isn't completely melted, so it can't have been too long.

"Greg, honey, here. Open your mouth and I'll tell you," she says, bringing the spoon of ice near his lips again. He takes them and she sighs, silently praying (although she's not religious) that he'll understand. "You had surgery, Greg."

Again, seemingly having forgotten their earlier conversation, he panics. "My leg! You let them take my leg!" he yells, tears forming in his eyes.

"No! No! Look! Your leg is here. See?" she hurries to reassure him. He sees his leg and relaxes a bit, but he still looks confused and frightened.

"Then…what…why surgery?" he asks, staring at her.

She has to avert her eyes. "You had surgery to remove the damaged muscle, Greg. It was too dangerous. The toxins were ravaging your body," she says bravely.

He's calmer now, and he nods, seemingly coherent. "I coded again in the coma," he states, remembering requesting the induced coma.

She shakes her head. "No," she says quietly.

"I didn't?" he asks, confused, and again she shakes her head, willing the tears not to fall.

"Then…why? What… I mean…I don't understand," he says quietly, his bright eyes searching her face for answers.

Stacy takes a deep breath and tries not to cry again. She's got to act strong and tough, and not let him see that she questions her decision. It'll only make things worse if he senses her doubt. She brushes her hand against his cheek. "Sweetheart, you coded once. That was enough. You almost died! You did die! You were technically dead for over a minute! I wasn't going to risk it again!"

"So…" he begins and swallows thickly, "you… you…just…decided… what would be best for me, knowing I didn't want the muscle removed," he shakes his head slowly and closes his eyes, shutting her out.

"Greg," she explains, "you weren't in your right mind. You were in excruciating pain. You made me your medical proxy because you trusted me with your life. You trusted me to make decisions when you couldn't." He opens his eyes to look at her and it scares her that she can't read what he's thinking.

"You didn't trust me," he says. "I told you I'd be fine and I'd get the use of my leg back." His voice is quiet and emotionless.

"And you also told me you weren't going to die," she argues gently. He says nothing, so she continues, her tone firm and matter-of-fact. "I _love_ you. I love you with my whole life and everything I am. And I...I couldn't risk losing you!" She thinks as she says this that she probably _has_ lost him – he won't be able to forgive her – but at least he's alive.

"Please try to understand," she entreats. He sees the tears glistening in her eyes and feels them stinging at his own. It's all too much to comprehend and he's just so tired. He motions for her to come closer; he pulls her head onto his chest and they both fall asleep this way.

(To Be Continued...)


End file.
